I Carry Your Heart
by razbliuto
Summary: Ruminations Upon a Bathroom Toilet (because that's where Kizuna did her best thinking): Life isn't supposed to be complicated when you pick the neutral route. Nowhere does it say you'll wake up with a new Quirk and a dead sister. She'd like to file a formal complaint. — healer OC/?
1. the good die laughing

**notes**: edit to change present into past tense. you might find new and changed details in here.

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**I CARRY YOUR HEART**

THE GOOD DIE LAUGHING

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What happened, said the grey man.

(now there's a stupidly loaded question if she's ever heard one)

_What._ _Happened_.

That's a lot to ask of Kizuna, considering the city she lived in was on the verge of blowing up thrice every goddamn day. It's all havoc, all the time. Not great, but the rest of the world have it just as bad (droughts in Beirut, fires in São Paulo, villains creatively calling themselves the Anti-Avengers in Lagos, et fucking cetera). Tokyo was no different.

Well.

It'd be a pain to start at the beginning, so let's begin where it mattered: a key unlocking the door of the apartment she lived in with her sister, her backpack loaded with homework she'd _probably_ get to after playing video games, thumbing through the bills stuffed in the mail slot.

Back then, she was in her first year of junior high, her long black hair clipped back in cute barrettes, three months shy of thirteen. Slamming the door shut with her foot, her uniform jacket thrown in the direction of the kotatsu—back then it was September, and getting colder. Yuuka won't be back till much later, if she's back at all these days—but that's a hero for ya. It's just her, a large McDonald's fries, and afterschool anime.

Then things started getting bonkers.

Like, blood-on-the-floor bonkers. Puddles and puddles of it.

She started to scream. She remembered that. She remembered hands clamping over her mouth. Fries spilling out of her bag. (Was she focusing too much on the fries? Whatever, they were _good fries_.)

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Repeat ad infinitum.

Then light.

White sheets. White walls. Tubes and needles. Turpentine and bleach. A heart monitor. _Beep beep beep_ and all that jazz. Yeah, jazz. Louis Armstrong crackled from a shitty, distorted radio in the corner, trumpets blaring and _It's a Wonderful World_ reverberating in her spaced-out brain.

…_What?_

* * *

When the police arrived, she was so drugged up all she saw were the moving shadows, flashlights, an orange blob, two yellow spiked… _things_ floating over a blue and red hero outfit. Somebody's cosplaying as All Might. She felt herself laughing deliriously, or maybe not because her mouth and her head and her body were numb as rocks. She was definitely drooling.

Muffled shouts, and the smell, of course the smell—she was covered in something sickeningly metallic, a vague impression of a body on the table next to her. She glimpsed it as she's lifted up, hands pulling tubes out of her arms. The next table was dripping globs of blood, a vapid face staring up at nothing.

When her eyes manage to unstick and peel open again, she saw indistinct people with their mouths covered by surgical masks, neon flashing by through what might've been windows. The ground rumbled beneath her, like she was in a car. There's something over her nose—something plastic, pumping in oxygen.

What time was it? She needed to get to class. Was this karmic punishment because she wanted to play Animal Crossing instead of studying for her math test? Sorry, ancient gods of Ezo. If she apologized enough, will she wake up in a jolt in the kotatsu, Yuuka making fried rice in the kitchen and singing badly to some American rock song while a teeth-whitening commercial chattered on the tv in the background? _Sorry sorry sorry sorry extra sorry sauce on a sorry sundae!_

Another bump hit her, and fluorescent lights blurred overhead. She was being rolled somewhere. Masked faces above her were shouting gibberish at each other. Oh. Something was wrong. Like, actually wrong. She tried asking the nearest person if they have her phone and to please call her sister. She's not supposed to be out so late.

But her mouth was cottony and dry, refusing to move. Her throat made a guttural, frantic noise. Where is she? What's going on?

It's okay now," said a vaguely orange blur. "It's okay."

_This is not okay at all_, Kizuna wanted to respond, but she was already lurching back into a blissful nothing.

* * *

"What happened?" the police investigator asked, sitting next to her hospital bed.

What happened.

Kizuna didn't know. She left her house that morning with hair and woke up in the hospital with a shaved head and throbbing pain in her chest. What about that is comprehensible, ma'am. She was also shaking. It's fucking freezing in here. Or was it? Maybe she's too hot. She wiped her runny nose with a bird-thin wrist. Every inch of her body was in some kind of pain.

"Can you tell me what day it is?"

She wracked her brain. Her memory was so foggy. "…September… something?"

"Yes, September something." The investigator gave her a long, searching look. "We found you eleven months and twenty-seven days after you disappeared from your apartment. Last year, you were coming home after school and…"

The investigator's voice warped into echoing nonsense as Kizuna stared at her. Her nose dripped.

…Again, _what_?

She was being pranked. This was some elaborate _horseshit_, with a startling level of detail and specificity. Her arms were covered in blue and purple bruises, swollen from being stabbed by… no, it's highly realistic makeup, that's all.

"Okay," Kizuna said, scratching the back of her head. Being bald was so weird. Yet, strangely, a little freeing. Did she ask Yuuka to help her shave her head for fun? It didn't sound like her, but… it's probably what happened. _Hair grows back_, Yuuka always said, tying strands of her thick white hair onto an injury and watching the wound glow. "Right, sure. I mean, I had a math test, so I guess I'll have to make that up, right?"

"Yokoyama-san, this isn't a joke."

The young teen laughed, a forced spasm over her gaunt face. "If it is, it's a dumb one. No offense. Is Yuuka here yet? I mean, Tutari?"

Her leg jittered, rocking back and forth. Her dark pink eyes sat inside huge, hollow sockets. The police investigator swallowed hard. Law enforcement had been shown photographs of the lost Yokoyama girl before her capture. She had a round, healthy face, long black hair, and a goofy grin as she posed with her sister over crepes. The girl before her was a skeleton.

Kizuna dug her sharp canines into her lip. It hurt. It hurt, and she was not waking up, so this couldn't be a dream. She abruptly sat up and clambered over the hospital bed, taking the IV stand with her, ignoring the investigator shouting for a nurse to bring her back.

Outside was a bloodstained young man, dressed in a torn, bright orange jacket and a black mask. He looked up when she nudged open the door.

"Hi, excuse me," she croaked, trying and failing to wave her hand because, like the rest of her body, her arm had about as much muscle in it as a rubbery noodle. "Has Tutari arrived yet? I'm her little sister. I need her to heal me because, um, I think I hit my head."

He looked at her for a long moment.

He said, "Nobody told ya."

* * *

She didn't understand.

They told her again.

She still didn't understand.

They told her for the third, fourth, sixth, tenth, twentieth, three hundred thousandth time.

_I don't get it._

They looked at each other, then back at the girl with the blank, dazed stare. They called All Might in.

He described in excruciatingly kind detail how it happened. How her sister, the Medic Hero Tutari, died. Why Kizuna woke up with agonizing pain in her chest.

She thought about the fries on the floor of her sister's apartment, sadly uneaten. What happened to them? Have they molded? Turned into white-green fungi? He said Yuuka had been lying next to her on the operating table for hours. She must've also started to mold. While Kizuna slept, the corpse had laid prone beside her like glistening, oily, slowly rotting fries.

She thought about it so hard she threw up in front of All Might.

* * *

They held the wake at the Yokoyama family house in Tokyo.

Almost everyone in attendance was a pro hero, out of their recognizable costumes and in their mourning civvies. Fatgum, Ingenium, Ryukyu, among others. Yuuka's mentor, Recovery Girl. Endeavor, with his family in tow. (She tried to avoid the boy with the red-white hair, but that didn't quite work out.) All the ones she supported as a healer. A few more that Kizuna's not sure if Yuuka ever properly met, but it could just be that her aunts and uncles wanted to take the opportunity of her sister's death to rub elbows, if you catch her in-extremely-poor-taste drift.

The Yokoyama cousins came, all the extended relatives, and Seki. Somehow between handing out tissue paper and accepting flowers, her father's parents found the time to mention to Ekashi that his daughter, Yuuka's own mother, couldn't even make it. Did anyone let her know she only has one child left?

"Fight, fight, fight," Kizuna chanted under her breath. Ekashi kicked her foot.

They buried Yuuka's ashes at the Yokoyama family cemetery, next to their father.

The rest of her father's family was dressed in bespoke black suits and dresses, shiny black loafers and black heels. Ekashi wore the regalia of his people; a deep blue and orange robe pattered with white geometric prints. A splash of bright color amongst dark mourners, red autumn leaves swirling overhead.

The Tokyo Police were kind enough to give her and her ekashi an escort back to Hokkaido. They flew to Sapporo and took a bus inland to another city; there, her grandpa's friend picked them up (a broad lady with a truck filled with potatoes and her wife in the passenger seat, greeting her with a big, hearty _eani shukupashnu ne ruwe ne, Kizuna! And I love your new hair_) and drove them out to their village.

When they finally pulled up on the dirt road of small, rickety house, she got out of the car with a long stretch.

A dog leaped up from his guard at the porch and ran at her. The girl was all skin and bones, and she toppled over on the dirt. Wakka shoved his big, furry self into her arms and licked Kizuna until she giggled and dug her face into his fur as a hello. Her grandpa followed after, holding a stone urn.

"Your pa's folks get a nice n' fancy funeral, and I get a bit of dust," Ekashi muttered. He shook his head, wiping his brow. "Welcome home, Yuuka."

Together, they scattered the ashes below the sakura tree on the hill overlooking their house, the apple and pear trees, the large garden of potatoes, sugarbeet, and tomatoes in their backyard, and further beyond the rolling golden plains of countryside.

Her soul would come back in forms unknown to them, her grandpa said. They would see Yuuka again. This tree would guide her back home. Ah, do you see that sparrow among the branches? Perhaps that's her now.

He sat down in the grass, took off his hat, took a quiet breath—and broke down completely, his hat soaking up his tears.

Kizuna sat next to him, Wakka in her lap. Her heart beat unnaturally loud between her ears. Was that normal?

What's normal, anyway. The last thing she remembered feeling real, harrowing concern over was finding a discontinued bottle of nail polish online.

Today, Ekashi was shooing away local heroes who wanted to pay their respects. Even the mayor asked the reporters and news stations to give the house privacy (their dingy little house with the splintery tatami floors and rot on the bathroom ceiling, talked about by the mayor—ha!). At the police trying to investigate their house Ekashi yelled, "There ain't nothin' of Yuuka's here! Now get off my damn property 'cause we're tryin' to mourn in peace!"

He grabbed Yuuka's antidepressants, all the old pills she stored away, and flushed them down the toilet. It's fine, he assured. Yuuka-chan's got no use for them anymore.

So then.

Kizuna was… free to—be. Or something.

She didn't quite know.

It was the same dazed listlessness as when her dad died (age thirty-eight, earthquake rescue, a crumbling house). She wanted Yuuka here to say gentle, comforting words that she'd call dumb and mushy and then secretly cry about in the shower. She wanted Yuuka to make her breakfast as they roasted people's funeral outfits. She wanted Yuuka to tell her everything was going to be okay, and if it wasn't okay they'd play more Mario Kart together.

She sat on the bed, in the tiny bedroom they shared as kids visiting Hokkaido for the summer, with the blocky, staticky tv that only played six channels and the dusty origami animals they made sitting on the windowsill—her ugly, clumsy frogs next to her big sister's beautiful cranes.

Mostly, Kizuna just wanted Yuuka.

But.

…Well.

One night, when she got tired of rolling around in bed and staring at the shadows on her ceiling, Kizuna padded downstairs. The old, musty floorboards creaked under her slippers. A light from the kitchen was still on. Inside, her ekashi was sitting with his head in his hands, a cup of untouched tea on the table.

Laying by his feet, Wakka raised his head and whined quietly. When he saw her, Ekashi quickly wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Can't sleep, _cironnup-po_?" he asked lightly as they both pretended they didn't hear the quiver in his voice.

She shrugged, taking his cup of tea over to the sink. She refilled the kettle and turned on the stove to make them a fresh pot.

"She did it to save you. She was a hero. Your big sister."

Their counter was filled with dishes the neighbors brought, enough to last them a month, at least. She put them away in the fridge.

"It's okay if you hate her. It's okay, but remember she loved you."

It's what everyone said, like it's a comfort: so sad about your sister, but hey, she loved you. How easy it would be to respond: I'd rather her hate me forever if that means she can be alive. But if Kizuna thought about it too much, she imagined hands splitting open her chest and Yuuka, wet and gory, emerging from her broken ribcage. So she bit down on her lip very hard and didn't think about it.

The kettle whistled.

Her mouth tasted like blood and fries.

* * *

Here's the thing: when the grey man said _what happened_, she condensed almost everything.

There was so much she didn't talk about. For example, the bruising on her arms the doctors said were from needles.

"Diamorphine, or heroin, can also be used to treat pain post-surgical operations," the doctor said. "The withdrawal symptoms will fade in about a week. It hasn't been long-term use, so you'll recover fine."

"Yay," Kizuna said, itching her arm. "That's great. Mystery solved, let's wrap it up and go home."

"That's why Yuuka-chan performed the operation," her grandmother sobbed into her handkerchief. "She found Kizuna-chan half-dead and knew there was only one option…"

"I dunno, Gran, open-heart surgery is a pretty extreme reaction to a drug overdose."

Her grandfather stormed outside and started lambasting the police officers while her grandmother dissolved into her handkerchief.

Kizuna stared down at the blue veins sticking out from her bony hands. "I don't even get to remember how I became a drug addict? That's messed up. I bet it was a really funny story—hey, Gran, can you sneak in some pocky for me? I'm tired of eating jell-o—Gran, come on, this is important, stop crying."

_What happened?_ her grandfather continued yelling outside._ Was it a villain? Did they force Yuuka to do it? Who took her? They probably touched her god-knows-where! …Oh, you're doing your best!? Your best isn't good enough! That's my granddaughter! I won't hear any excuses! Get your goddamn asses in line or I will see to it you never work again!_

But she was saved from having to listen further, because a tall, burly man in his late sixties came hurtling through the door. He was still dressed in his work jeans and flannels, as though he dropped everything and took a plane down from Hokkaido right when they called. _Ekashi_. Her mother's father.

Before she can say a word, he's hugging her so tight and whispering, "_Cironnup-po_. You've come home."

Little fox. Kizuna-fox. Kizuna of the mountain wilds and the haskapberry forests and the salmon leaping over the river of their village. Her face was warm with his tears, his wrinkled, sun-beaten and snow-chilled cheeks, his rugged, wiry beard. She wanted to tell him she just saw him a month ago for summer holiday.

But that wasn't quite right.

Her hands came up to hold his shaking shoulders, the motion tugging on the tubes on her arms. She patted the back of his head. There, there.

The doctors summarized everything to her three grandparents, going over her x-rays and the heart scans and all the medication she'll have to take while she heals from the surgery. They talked about her sister being her identical HLA match, about antigens and immunology and other things that Kizuna didn't understand, but anyway, the chance of rejection was very slim.

"So," they concluded, "do you have any questions?"

"I do," Kizuna said.

They all looked at her.

"Can someone please Google the video games released since I was kidnapped?"

* * *

Her grandparents let Kizuna choose the photo for the wake, which was their first mistake.

She went through a collection of Yuuka in her hero outfit, wearing her signature blue bandana woven with elm-bark fiber, bold white swirls patterned across it. Her long white hair was looped in a ponytail that formed an O behind her back. Her eyes were a gentle pink. A long, diagonal scar cut from her forehead, across her nose, to her cheek. There were serious photos, somber photos, photos with a hint of a professional smile…

She chose the one where Yuuka's grinning like she's some suave debonair, finger-gunning the camera.

Her father's father was the first to speak; a Yokoyama from the main branch, pure hero pedigree. While he somberly intoned about how selfless, and altruistic, and full of grace Yuuka was, her huge, cheeky grin sat above him, finger-gunning the audience. More than a few heroes pressed hands to mouths, choking back laughter. Kizuna had to pretend she's covering her face with her kimono to hold back tears, not giggles.

Her grandparents' second mistake: letting strangers come up to Kizuna with a sympathetic, "You're an inspiration to other survivors…"

She got so fed up she started replying, "Thanks, but I prefer Playstations over words and flowers," and then had to be ushered away by one of the Yokoyama cousins.

Apparently, such things weren't _polite_ to say at funerals. Hm.

Kizuna wound up hiding in the hallway, her back pressing against the wall, equally bored and sad. Which was just a terrible combination. At least it was easy to avoid the heroes; her grandmother made them help out with serving food. Some actually look relieved at having something to do. She wondered how many funerals they attend a year.

She noticed a man walking up to her. A man with neatly parted green-and-yellow hair and a tailor-fitted black suit.

"Excuse me," Sir Nighteye said. "I was about to take my leave when I saw you."

_Great_, she thought, already scowling, _another goddamn_—

"Though your sister and I were merely passing acquaintances, I admired her," he continued, unblinking. "On many occasions, Tutari's good humor was as indispensable as her Quirk." He touched a hand to his chest. "The world is worse without her."

Her head lifted, regrading the stern face and the impassive yellow eyes behind his glasses.

Kizuna hated condolences, but it's different with this one. She appreciated the unflinching manner of his speech.

And somehow, she could tell he really meant it.

With a short bow of his head, he left.

More voices grew louder down the hall, so she uprooted herself from the hallway and moved into the quieter area of the house, wandering into her grandfather's study. It was lined with books, a desk, plaques hung up on the walls, and a glass cabinet filled with awards. His awards, his children's, a few grandchildren's. All the heroes of the Yokoyama clan. She knew by heart the twenty-four Sidekick of the Year medals in there.

He'd left the tv on, and a news reporter crackled at a quiet volume, "_After a year of searching, a kidnapped child has been found. The daughter of a well-known family of heroes was located in the mountains of Gifu._"

Images of the forested mountain appeared, the glow from the screen lighting her blank stare. Her grandfather always turned off the news when these reports came on, calling them 'a ratings bloodbath for sharks'. She hadn't seen photos before. Wasn't that strange? They found her there, supposedly, but she hadn't even known what it looked like.

"_Reports say that after being hospitalized, she is in good spirits. However, her sister, the Medic Hero known as Tutari, has passed away after sustaining fatal injuries—_"

The floor behind her creaked.

She slammed the power off button on the remote and spun around, almost hitting Todoroki Shouto.

Oh, _jeez—_

"Hey," he said.

Kizuna thought about offering a weak smile, but that was asking for pity. She shrugged, arms self-consciously held over her obi. He hadn't changed much. Same scar, same hair. Made sense, she'd only been gone for a year. He was taller; that was the only noticeable difference.

"You look…" He hesitated. The plate of noodles her grandmother forced on him looked hilariously awkward gripped in his hand. "…cool."

Blinking, she ran a head around her head. "I woke up like this." A beat. "…Huh, I can say that honestly."

They examined each other. She looked like a boy; gangly, her shaved head and tawny-brown skin in stark contrast to the formal kimono she was wearing. Meanwhile, he cleaned up nice for a funeral. A black suit, that awful burn scarring his left eye, a bruise on his wrist that his jacket barely covered. She didn't want to ask where it was from.

"I'm… sorry," he said. "About everything."

"Yeah," Kizuna replied automatically. She bit the inside of her cheek. Still not a dream. "Thanks, I guess."

She peeked at his scar. The garish, burned thing and patches of flaky skin around an eye glancing around, unsure of what to say. She felt a weird kinship with him after the scar she's seen on her own body.

A procession of mourners passed behind them in the corridor, her grandmother weeping softly as she clutched a photo of Yuuka. Among them, a mourner with a looped white ponytail called cheerfully, "Cheer up, kids! I never wanted a sad funeral!" and Kizuna swallowed. Todoroki was still standing there uncomfortably, one hand in his pocket.

"Wanna touch my head?"

"…What?"

"Come on, _konru_-boy."

He shot her a faintly exasperated look. "What are you saying?"

She took the plate of noodles off him and plopped Todoroki's hand right over her grey fuzz. "Feels weird, right? Like grass."

"Or a dog."

She made a face at him and he grimaced at her in a way that might've been an attempt at a halfhearted grin, except he just looked constipated. His hand stopped moving and rested over her head. She had got a couple inches on him.

His mismatched eyes looked up, searching hers. "What happened to you, Yokoyama?"

This was somehow worse than those terrible fancy parties they'd been forced to go to, the cringe-inducing talks about a potential betrothal behind paper-screen doors.

"I have to poo," Kizuna said, then floundered away to the bathroom to hide. And eat his noodles. Which she took. (Oops.)

When the coast was clear and there was no frigid Todoroki in sight, she slipped out. Her grandmother made her promise she wouldn't hide because they had so many guests to entertain. Sure, Yuuka was dead, but it was never too early to learn how to be a good hostess.

Well, it's never too early for her grandmother to learn she was a liar. Her feet took her to the outside corridor that surrounded the garden, and the voices inside faded away. The brisk air rustled her kimono as she walked over the glistening, clean floorboards.

It was too easy to recall the years she'd spent here with her sister, their peals of laughter echoing over the traditional-styled house. She just had to let her eyes drift to hear the footsteps running behind her, a flash of white in the corner, Yuuka watching her from behind a half-shut door.

At the end of the engawa sat a squat old lady.

"The little sister," Recovery Girl observed, and patted the wooden flooring next to her. "Sit, sit. Have you eaten, dear? Here, take this." She rummaged through her coat pockets and gave the girl a handful of candy.

Kizuna twisted off the wrapper and popped one in her mouth.

"It's been a long while since I talked to her," Recovery Girl mused, her gentle voice laced with regret. "Tell me what was Yuuka like before it all happened."

She sucked on the candy for a considering moment. "Happy." Had she been happy? "Full of life." Hadn't she been stressed out from work? "She was always so kind." Hadn't she thrown a book at Kizuna and collapsed into her bruised arms, stumbling through apologies as she healed her?

"That sounds like Yuuka."

The overcast autumn sky hung low over the traditional garden, peonies and chrysanthemums all colorless in the sparse, cold light.

"When we were growing up, she spent so much time healing all the injured birds and trampled flowers she came across."

"What a good girl."

She snorted. "It was actually pretty annoying. We missed the train so many times."

Recovery Girl patted her hand. "Even heroes make mistakes."

Kizuna peeled the chipped, glittery blue nail polish off her fingernails. She dropped them in the dirt, spreading them around with her foot like tiny sparrow bones.

"I know," she said.

* * *

The first time she saw herself bare, it was after she insisted to the nurses she could shower by herself. It'd been two weeks since she woke up and the charm of sponge baths had _quickly_ worn out its welcome.

The doctors told her about it, so she knew there was a scar there. But it couldn't be that bad. It's just a scar. Yuuka had that terrible slash across her face, and it always looked so cool on her. But Kizuna would be lying if she didn't admit a part of her is hoping it isn't actually _real._

She limped into the communal shower of her ward and inhaled sharply as she looked in the mirror. Oh, hell. No wonder people flinch when they see her.

A hollow girl gazed back. A light grey fuzz over her shaved head, her lips pale and chapped. A ghost, maybe.

Her hands gingerly unfastened the hospital gown. It fell open.

She saw it.

A long, purple scar stretched down her chest, from below her clavicles, between her breasts, until it hit the top of her stomach. The surrounding skin was red where it was swollen and greenish-purple where it was festering. The view was relentless beneath sickly fluorescent lights.

It was real. It was _hideous_.

Yuuka cracked her open like a walnut. Kizuna-go-snap.

She braced herself against the sink, gulping in air. Her eyes flickered; she felt faint.

_What happened?_

"What happened," she breathed to the mirror, to the hairless, trembling, naked girl pressing her hands up against the fragile scar, where her sister's heart is beating remorselessly inside her. "What happened?" Her fingers dug into her eyes, she was kneeling on the cold tiled floor, oh god, she couldn't breathe, "What happened?_ Yuuka_! _Yuuka, why_—"

* * *

"_SHAKKOI_!"

Kizuna leaned back, gloved hands cupped around her mouth, listening to her howl echo over the frozen land.

Ekashi tramped through the snow with a gruff chuckle, Wakka barking and leaping beside her. Standing ankle-deep in white, she inhaled the sharp, bittercold Hokkaido air with gusto. Here, her backyard was an icy river and a forest. Smoke rose from the chimneys around their small village, the muffled sound of soccer games on tvs coming through the windows. The nearest town/fast food joint was just a fifteen-minute drive away.

It's good to be back.

When her buzzcut started growing out, it wasn't in the silky black color she took from her father, but white. Chalk-white like her sister and her mother, intensely vivid against the sandy-brown of her skin. She pointed this out to Ekashi when he came back from a hunt with Wakka. (_Matagi_, a man of winter. The last of his kind.)

"It looks… nice?" Ekashi scratched his head. "Hey, you almost match with this old man." He pointed at his thick grey beard flicked with ice, a wide grin lifting up his wrinkles and crow's feet.

Bless his heart, her grandpa always knew what to say to a teenage girl.

She turned from the mirror, watching him troop into the kitchen with a bag of kill over one shoulder. "Are you going to Starbucks later? Pick me up a hot chai, please."

"Sure, sure," he called back, "after I skin the rabbits."

She was still fiddling with the white strands later, warming a Starbucks cup between her knees and sitting in the tire swing under the barren sakura tree.

"You know," Ekashi threw his broad arm around the tire, and she swayed with the motion, "every winter, the snow fox changes its color from black to white."

The outer edges of his deep gold eyes were ringed with jet-black. The hair underneath his baseball cap was dark red and lined with grey. A true Ezo fox.

"_Cironnup-po_," he said, and the warmth of it, the connection behind it made a tiny smile tug at her mouth. Kizuna was half-Tokyo, half-city in the south, but she was also this: snow and haskapberries and the tiny yip of foxes that prowled the woods behind their house.

"_Hatcho_?" she asked. _Pretty?_

"_Shiretok_," her grandpa replied gruffly and mussed her hair. _Beautiful._

He was only saying that because he was her gramps, but she liked it all the same.

* * *

It was the stress, Kizuna told herself. She was just greying earlier than normal. A _lot_ earlier than normal.

She should've known.

* * *

Her grandparents had the sense to back up old family photos and videos. She downloaded them all on her phone (a new one that her Yokoyama grandparents bought for her before she left for Hokkaido) and spent every day scrolling through them, over and over. Yuuka, on the subway. Yuuka, eating. Yuuka, Yuuka, Yuuka.

(Most days, aside from attending the local junior high where she played games on her phone instead of paying attention, she didn't do much except try to return to the past.)

One early morning, as Kizuna continued her routine of playing the memories over and over in her head, a soft thud hit her window.

Outside, Wakka barked up a storm. She groggily stumbled down the stairs and out the door.

A tiny russet sparrow with an injured wing fluttered on the snow, chirping feebly.

"Oh, hello," she said quietly, her breath chilling wetly in the air. "Can I take a look?" She scooped it up between her palms—

And her hands glowed white.

Kizuna was so startled she dropped the bird.

Instead of falling, the sparrow took off in a flash of red, wings beating up into the air.

Shocked, she stumbled against a tree, hand braced against it. Something nudged under her palm. A thin sprig unfurled in the cold air, green leaves and flowers blooming in the snow.

Oh.

Yuuka's heart _thumped_.

Before anyone could see, she grabbed the new sprig and violently wrenched it out of the tree, stomped on it and kicked snow on top.

She didn't breathe a word about it.

_Neogenesis_, Yuuka called it. Hyper-speed cellular recovery.

She practiced on little things, just enough to understand how to activate and deactivate it. Like Yuuka, she could make dormant plants reemerge and heal wounds on animals. And like Yuuka, she couldn't revive the dead. Kizuna poked the limp salmon on the chopping block that Ekashi was cooking for lunch. Nope.

And Neogensis didn't work on its user. But Kizuna had always known that.

Still, she stuck safety pins through her ears. A box of Yuuka's old earrings sat on the bathroom sink; she found it in their bedroom, the one they used to share as kids. Two quick shoves and metal pierced through skin. Blood traced a path down her neck.

Kizuna stared at the mirror, at her face that was one bad slash away from belonging to someone else, safety pins stabbed through her ears, before the pain kicked in and the shock and _what the hell did I just do_?

She spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in the bathroom, biting on a towel to muffle her tears of pain, and hollering in a strained voice at her grandpa that she ate something bad.

(Every time she missed her sister to the point of unbearable pain, she would stab her ears. And every time she did, the less it hurt.

She ended up with four piercings on her right and five on her left. Lobes, upper lobe, helixes, orbitals.)

On a walk with Wakka, she touched a patch of icy grass. The dormant grass lifted up and flourished beneath her fingertip. She examined her work with a furrowed brow. In an hour, it would be covered by snow again. It would relearn pain all over again.

"Is healing still a gift if it'll die anyway?" Kizuna mumbled to Wakka, who licked her cheek and excitedly wagged his tail.

Hm. Good point, Wakka.

Months passed.

She stopped going to school and flunked out of junior high. Her grandpa looked at her sadly when she came back from a long walk with Wakka, a letter from the school on the table, and she didn't know how to apologize so she ran to her room. She yelled at her mom when she finally appeared. She went to therapy and tried to make the therapist cry. She succeeded. She occasionally shoplifted from the convenience store.

It's all whatever. Her days were flavored with who-the-fuck-cares and I'm-tired-of-trying.

But then Ekashi slipped on ice during a blizzard and, well, what else could she do?

She yanked off a strand of white hair and tied it around his sprained ankle, then rested her warm palm over his concussed forehead. With Wakka's help, she dragged him inside and tried calling for a doctor, but the phone towers must've downed in the blizzard because there was no service.

"Please work," she prayed through gritted teeth, "Please. Yuuka, _help me_."

Ekashi woke up, blinking groggily at his granddaughter by his side. The numbness in her chest was washed out by the warmth of relief.

"Yuuka?" he murmured, cutting like a dagger into her heart. His eyes refocused. "Kizuna. How…"

Kizuna threw her arms around him and sniffled, "I was just afraid you'd miss dinner. I really want to eat yuk ohaw."

It turned out her hair didn't work on wounds more severe than shallow cuts and bruises. After another two hours of holding her palms over his ankle, the swelling went down. Ekashi was back on his feet the next day. Meanwhile, Kizuna was so tired she knocked out on the couch and slept for twenty-two hours, not even waking up for deer-and-onion stew.

A year flew by.

She turned fifteen. She missed her last opportunity to take a high school entrance exam. Fuck it. She never studied, anyway.

She was supposed to be looking towards the future (it was a miracle she even had a future, and she's supposed to be grateful for it, right?), but all she could think about was what happened in that missing year of her life. Having Yuuka's Quirk. Having her heart. She thought about it all the time. Her memory was a blank gap, holes burned like cigarettes through paper. Like gazing out into the ocean at midnight; an infinite, endless void.

She spent her days in bed, Wakka sleeping next to her, either playing video games or staring out the window and scratching her arms even though they didn't itch.

In the dead of March, there was an avalanche. Right at the next village.

Ekashi threw rope and supplies in the back of his truck and slammed the gas. Kizuna was next to him in the front, zipping up her jacket and buckling her seatbelt. He didn't try to tell her to stay behind. They couldn't afford it.

Her gramps joined the search party, and they dragged out villagers buried in the snow. Lit by flashlights and candles, she rubbed her hands until they glowed and went around healing. One by one, throughout a long, snowy night that dipped far below zero, her hands placed over broken legs and bloody arms. An old lady clasped her son as he woke up; they both thanked Kizuna profusely.

Something shivered down her spine.

(a ghost walking over a grave—)

She shook her head, no, no, no, this wasn't hers. This was Yuuka. _Yuuka_ was the one who saves you.

When heroes finally arrived at the village, she was slumping over in exhaustion and fell on top of someone's horse she's in the middle of healing. The last thing she felt was someone dragging her out of the prickly hay.

Kizuna slept for almost five days.

She woke up in a hospital, Ekashi and Wakka on her right, a doctor and a policewoman sitting on her left. She looked down at the needles in her arm and tasted grease in her mouth, like fries.

"…Was I kidnapped again?" Kizuna mumbled sleepily.

"Good lord," said the doctor in alarm.

"I'm sorry," her grandpa sighed, "this is just how she is."

"Rude, Ekashi." If Yuuka was here, she'd laugh.

They brought in Quirk doctors and a hero. _The_ hero. All Might, from Tokyo. He could barely fit through the front door of Ekashi's house. All Might was comically massive as he adjusted, trying to avoid bumping into furniture. She wasn't even sure why he was here, but anyway, they're all crammed around the kitchen table: All Might, her, her ekashi, and the doctors.

"Accelerated cellular healing through skin contact. You're displaying your sister's abilities. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she answered, watching All Might politely sip his tea, his huge frame tucked on a chair that looked ludicrously tiny under him.

The doctors nodded at each other. "Obviously, the likeliest explanation is the heart transplant. Tutari's Quirk is manifesting in her."

"Is that… normal?" Ekashi asked, his hairy brown arms crossed over his flannel.

No, judging by their silence. It wasn't normal.

"Our records have it that Yokoyama Kizuna-san has a similar support-related Quirk," said a doctor. "Do you still have it?"

"I…" Her eyes darted at the window, the snowy freedom outside, "yes, I think so. I don't use it."

"Could you perhaps demonstrate—"

"I don't use it," she repeated.

"To be frank, the combination of those two rare Quirks is of interest to us." The doctor reached into his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper. "We'd like to take a sample of your blood to analyze it. We want to know exactly we're dealing with here."

They placed a consent form in front of Ekashi. Bile rose up in the back of her throat.

"Ekashi, no," Kizuna said.

"This might help your granddaughter understand what she's going through—"

"Her answer," Ekashi cut in, "is my answer."

"But, sir—"

"No." Her palms slammed the table, rattling. "_No_!"

Grabbing her jacket, she slammed outside the kitchen door and ran up the hill to the sakura tree, panting and shivering, her old fur boots sinking deep into the powder snow with every step.

The sky was shrouded by a sea of grey clouds. The tree branches were covered in hoar frost, beards of ice feathering down the bark and freezing the ropes holding up the tire swing. After a while, she saw two indistinct figures leave the house, briefly shaking hands with Ekashi before heading to their car. _That's right_, she thought. _Fuck off. Go back to your stupid stable lives with your sisters who aren't fucking dead._

But even with the doctors gone, she still sat in the tire, headphones on and gripping her phone in her hands, listening to Yuuka's songs. Her knobby knees poked out below her bundled layers, boots kicking somberly at the snow.

She wiped her pink, runny nose, and looks up.

He was standing before her in that eye-blinding hero outfit, smile dazzling.

Kizuna lowered the headphones onto her neck, Yuuka's rock music muffled in the background. "…Aren't you cold, All Might?"

"What a kind girl, to be worried about me!" He posed, hands on his hips, that can-do-anything smile gleaming bright.

"Okay," she said blandly. "What do you want?"

"Actually, my dear, that's what I'd like to ask you. Your grandpa says you've stopped attending school." He gave her a friendly smile as she glared at the house at the bottom of the hill, trying to mentally convey to her ekashi that he was a traitor to her, forevermore. "What happens now?"

"…Now? I'll get a part-time job somewhere. Play video games to pass the time. Live off my sister's life insurance until I get old." She shrugged uncaringly, a motion that she seemed to do all the time lately. "Then I'll drag my body into the forest and let the kamuy take me."

All Might lowered himself, kneeling in front of her so they're eye level. She averted her gaze.

"I meant to attend your sister's wake, and I'm… truly sorry I had to miss it. You must be tired of hearing this by now, but let me say it once more. Tutari was a brilliant hero. I know she loved you very much."

Kizuna looked up from her knees. "Are you sure?"

His smile shifted a fraction.

"How do you know that, All Might? And don't give me a bullshit answer."

He took a quiet breath, and told her gently, "When we found the both of you, she was smiling. I'd like to believe Tutari died laughing. Because she was happy she saved you."

Her mouth trembled.

She hopped off the tire swing, reared back her fist, and punched him in the face. _Bad idea._

"Ow!" Tears pricked at her eyes. Shaking out her hand, she scooped up a snowball and lobbed it at his face. "She shouldn't have died at all, All Suck! Ugly Might!"

He didn't move. The cold mush splattered over his face and shadowed eyes.

"What good are you, huh? What good are you if you can't even save one person? How can you call yourself a hero!?" She threw another snowball at his face. The slush dripped down his hair, his jaw.

All Might didn't so much as twitch.

Her scream was blistering hot in the winter chill, "You're not a hero, All Might! _You're a failure_!"

Even as the last words slipped out of her mouth, Kizuna wanted to cry. She was utterly mortified at herself. Her hands dug in the snow, bits of dead grass peeking between her fingers. When she took another breath, tears were burning down her ice-cold cheeks.

"I wanna save her," she blubbered, "I know she's dead, but it's not—f-_fair_ I can't save her! It's not fair we can't save people who die, it's not _fair_!"

With every drop of saltwater, grass began to unfold from the barren earth.

"She spent her whole life healing everything she could, but nobody, nobody helped her when she needed it the most! She needed you, All Might! _She needed you_! _I needed you_!"

Kizuna's palms hit the dry, wilted foliage. Glowing white, bright flowers hot through the snow and opened their petals. She hated them so much she spat and cursed, crushing the flowers in her hands, but they just kept healing.

"What happened to me!? Who took me!? Why did it take you so long to find me!?" What else had she lost, besides her heart and her hair and a year of her life? Who took it from her? Yuuka? A villain? An angry god? Was this all a dream? Was she even _alive_? "Fuck apologies! Fuck this sorry for your loss shit! I want to know _WHY_!"

She wanted to shoot down the stars. She wanted to make the world hurt as much as she does.

Spring came to the top of the hill in sweeping greens. The winter tree melted all of its icicles and blossomed with sakura petals that scattered over her and All Might. It's so lovely Kizuna wanted to scream.

_This is not her Quirk._

"Why do heroes kill themselves," she sobbed, her cheeks red and wet, snot dribbling between her lips, "and leave us behind and everyone calls that brave? It's not brave! _Heroes don't do this to their little sisters_!"

Oh, this grief. It wouldn't leave her alone.

She was spinning out. Endless waves of unbecoming. Floating away, untethered, into the sky—

But massive arms embraced her and held her down. All Might rested her face over his shoulder. He was built like a fortress. Her arms couldn't even reach around his sides as her small fists beat against this huge, warm tree. _He's trembling_, she realized dimly through the shudders wracking her body.

"Forgive us." His deep, pained whisper shook her to her soul. "Forgive us for our humanity."

Her hands balled up tight. Her sobs echoed like a broken lute over the hills, on and on and on as a flock of red-crowned cranes took off over the distant mountains of the Ainu Mosir.

He keeps hugging her until finally, finally the tears stop, and she felt nothing but emptiness and exhaustion. The green beneath her feet was already being made half-white again. Sakura petals drifted down, amidst falling snow. _I see them bloom for me and you_, came a song that only she can hear, _and I think to myself, what a wonderful world_…

Kizuna thought of her father. She thought about the newspaper headlines that called her a saintlike miracle when she was found after a year missing. But she wasn't some teenage saint; she was just fifteen, and she didn't know anything.

"What should I do now, All Might?"

* * *

The Yokoyamas picked her up at the airport. As she texted Ekashi she made it safely to Tokyo, she could already feel the overbearing judgment before she spotted her grandparents in crowd.

"Excellent that you've decided on UA," her grandfather said crisply. "Just like the rest of your family."

As the driver loads up her suitcases in the trunk, her grandmother hugged her, which is kind of nice. "We're so happy you've come to live with us again, Kizuna-chan. Much better than that little hovel in the snow your _other_ grandfather calls a house."

Ah. Never mind.

"Oh, and I heard the Yaoyorozus are sending their daughter to UA! Remember her? And the Todoroki boy! They'll both be in your year! Now you won't feel like you don't know anyone."

Fuck. Fuck. Really? Well, it made sense. Fuck.

Her grandmother said they have a box of Seki's old clothes for her to wear, if she'd like, and per her request, they prepared Yuuka's old room. The police let them keep some of her belongings from the apartment, her grandmother explained.

Yuuka's old room faced the city. The golden afternoon light spilled across the desk, the old medical textbooks on the shelves, and her medals of valor.

"It's perfect," Kizuna managed, looking around, hands pressed to her mouth. "Thank y—"

"Your grandfather wants you on a strict schedule," her grandmother interrupted. "That means dinner with us every day, a curfew, and coming with us to the occasional gathering."

Her arms fell back to her side. "…Right."

"And we want to talk about potential marriages. You know, we just married your cousin Akari to an Ayamezuki, her sunlight Quirk goes splendidly with his photosynthesis Quirk, oh, the strong babies they'll make—"

"Gran," she said abruptly, "what if I become, like… a real hero? I won't have time for… marriage talk."

"I know that's your goal, dear." Her grandmother gripped her arms, smiling intensely. "But it's always better to have a backup plan."

A backup plan.

Right.

It's good to be practical. Bad to live with your head in the clouds. Even if she graduated from UA, there was no guarantee she could be a _Hero_ hero. In fact, if she was to be especially cynical about it, UA would just be another gold star on her resume of Qualified Young Woman With Good Quirk In Search of a Husband.

Her grandmother patted her cheek. "I'll let you get settled."

The next day, Kizuna woke up before either of her grandparents and slipped on a sweater and running shorts. She was going to see the hero All Might suggested she meet up with, because she needed to whip her weak body in shape for the UA entrance exam. She was aiming for the General track, not Hero, but still: she wanted to show that she was capable of, like, the occasional sprint.

In a cardboard box in the closet were Yuuka's old Nike Air Force 1's, soft and scuffed-up from wear. Yuuka used to get so angry at her when she wasted money buying trendy clothes, even though she had her big sister's hand-me-downs. _I don't want to look like an old hag_, she'd respond, and Yuuka would snort and reply, _You fool, don't you know retro always comes back into fashion? You'll beg to look like an old hag one day._

Kizuna sat on her bed and laced up a shoe, inspecting with a grin. Perfect fit.

* * *

She never had a sense of purpose like this before.

* * *

Kizuna could name a million billion things better than running. Like not running. Not running was _high up_ on the list of Things Better Than Running. Her chest burned as her feet slapped the concrete. Was everything about heroics directly correlated to masochism? A subconscious BDSM fetish in the hero community explained the tight, skimpy outfits. How much pain can you tolerate? Oh, that amount of a pain? Okay, let's multiply it by a hundred for fun! Because, in the end, all the running and lifting weights and constantly dousing their bodies in pain was what heroes _did_. For _fun_.

There could not be a more stupid occupation in the world.

Kizuna sucked in desperate gulps of air as she jogged through the streets of a quiet neighborhood, streaks of dawn coloring the sky blue and gold. A large, bright orange hero ran next to her while munching on a baguette. She must've been running for an eternity. At least twenty, thirty minutes.

"How… long… has it… been?" Kizuna panted, sweating like a pig, her skinny knees knocking together.

Fatgum glanced at his watch. "Two minutes n' forty-six seconds."

The noise she makes was not unlike a weeping banshee.

"C'mon, kid! No guts, no glory!"

"Don't… say those words to me… Fatgum!" Kizuna passed by a boy her age jogging in bright red sneakers, and shouted desperately, "Please end my life!"

He shot her a look of startled alarm as he ran past. Fatgum chomped down on the baguette, not even breaking a sweat.

They finally took a break in the park. Kizuna collapsed flat on the grass, sucking in air like a vacuum cleaner. There's no way she can do this. She considered quitting and heading back to Hokkaido. (She considered that no less than five hundred and twenty-two times in the past hour.)

"You said you're aimin' for the General Department, yeah?"

With effort, she gasped, "Uh-huh."

"How're your studies comin'? You should definitely work on acin' the written exam, in case, uh, the practical doesn't go so well."

"_Huughhhh_…"

"Is that a 'shut up, punk, I can't deal with this right now' noise?"

"_Haaaaaaarghhhh_…"

Fatgum jogged lightly in place, his huge body bouncing up and down. He's fucking adorable, but he was also making her run, which meant she wanted to break his nose.

When her breathing finally evened out, Kizuna muttered, "Yokoyamas always graduate from General or Support. It's 'cause our Quirks aren't usually hero-like."

"Hey, now," his huge, round eyes blinked at her, "the Quirk doesn't make the hero."

_Except when it does_, she thought.

"After this, we got food, weightlifting, then healing practice."

"How long is this training supposed to last?"

Fatgum grinned widely. "Until you give up, or get into UA."

"Yay," she said dully, and slicked back her sweaty hair. It was a short pixie now, almost covering her ears. "You're helping me 'cause of Yuuka, right?"

"Tutari's saved my ass countless times. I owe her." He gave her a friendly smack on the back with his gloved hand. "An' any sister of hers is a friend of mine!"

He was cheerful now, but she remembered him in the hospital, his muscled form so different; how he'd held her shoulders in his large, callused hands and looked her in the eye and said very quietly, "Your sister is dead. I'm so sorry."

Slowly Kizuna stood, her legs trembling. He had lost a friend, he's a busy pro hero, and now he was taking time to help her do something insanely stupid.

She had to stop being so pathetic.

Fatgum's schedule was irregular; being based in Kansai, they could only meet up when he was in Tokyo for hero work. But he introduced her to the local urgent care center and told them she'd be volunteering there to work on her Quirk. They started her off small: healing scrapes, bruises, and broken fingers. He made a list of foods for her to eat on a regular basis, so she could carb up and bring her body back to a healthy weight. And of course, physical exercise. Neogenesis depended on stamina; the more in shape Kizuna was, the more she could heal before passing out.

She'd probably be able to get into UA's General Department on her name alone, but she missed two years of school and she still needed to pass the written exam. So her grandparents did what every rich grandparent did: they hired professional tutors that she saw every day, weekends included, so she could catch up. Honestly, though? She didn't miss much. Math, science: still boring. History: definitely boring. Great literature: especially dull.

When she wasn't studying logarithms or memorizing pointless historical dates, she was listening to the nurses explain how ligaments tear and bones break, and falling asleep while reading Yuuka's medical textbooks.

Life became a circular hell: Waking up at dawn. Running until she throws up. Passing by the jogging boy in the bright red sneakers. Volunteering at the urgent care. Lifting weights. Studying. Eating food that she hoped to god would stay inside during tomorrow's run.

(It did not.)

* * *

Sometimes when she couldn't sleep (she missed Wakka at the foot of her bed, the big growling mess of fur guarding the door and her), she climbed up to the roof of the house and listened to Yuuka's favorite songs on her headphones, scrolling through photos of her sister.

Kizuna paused on one that makes her smile. A close-up of Yuuka's face with a protruding double chin, the epitome of exhausted _let me eat my junk food in peace_. She remembered this.

She remembered being ten and playing a video game on the engawa outside. The tv on in the background, a news report of All Might fighting a villain. Kizuna half-watched from the corner of her eye. God, she'd love to have a Quirk like that. Ripping bullies apart, kicking down buildings, snapping the spines off of villains or anyone who bothered her, really.

Yuuka fell next to her with a tired sigh, clutching a greasy bag of fast food.

"Fries and a burger again? Aren't heroes supposed to be healthy?" she snarked, and the way her sister's face squishes was so funny she took a photo of it.

"Gotta carbo-load. _Mataki_, you're lucky you weren't born with my Quirk."

"Stop being so emo, sis. I'll trade any day." At least Yuuka's had _use_.

On the tv, All Might landed a wicked punch and slammed the villain in concrete.

Kizuna caught her sister wincing and clutching her head. "Migraine again?" she asked without any real interest, more focused on her game.

"Low blood sugar." Yuuka stuffed her mouth with fries. The villain brushed off his wounds and launched a counterattack, jumping into the sky. Her hand lightly rubbed the long scar across her face. "Don't be a hero, yeah? It's not like a video game."

"Yeah. Real-life heroism sounds exhausting. Also, the life expectancy sucks."

"Thanks," Yuuka said wryly.

"Well, it's a good reminder," Kizuna remembered saying, and remembered thinking, _She can tell it's a joke. I'm not a bad sister. _"Anyway, I'm gonna be, like, a famous singer or actress. Maybe a model." She kicked Yuuka when she shrieked in laughter. "Sh-shut up, I could so do it! And maybe I'll dye my hair like yours so it's white n' pretty."

The scar jumped when she smiled, her dogteeth unnaturally sharp.

"I hate it," Yuuka confided like a secret. "It's like paper. Only beautiful when someone else draws on it. I'd rather be ink."

White.

White like thick envelopes of money.

White like the button-up shirt of the life insurance guy as he bowed his head and said, "We're deeply sorry for your loss."

The sunrise over Tokyo was not white. It was filled with color, smog, and light pollution, gleaming across glass windows and flocks of birds and an insignificant figure on a roof crying her eyes out.

* * *

As the summer dragged on, she volunteered at the urgent care every day. She kept up training with Fatgum. When she flexed in the mirror, there was even a tiny bulge on her bicep.

Her grandparents called up a family friend as an additional tutor that met with her twice a week, though she was pretty sure that's just because her grandmother's worried about her lacking proper social interaction with someone her age. Or she was trying to set them up. Actually, the latter seemed more likely.

"Studying is no joke!" her tutor exclaimed, his glasses flashing. "Let's do this right, Yokoyama! Well begun is half done!"

The last time she saw Iida Tenya was at Yuuka's wake. He was younger than her, but so much smarter. Kizuna leaned on her palm, evaluating this square in the shape of a boy. "How's that brother of yours, Tenya-kun? Still hot?"

"Please do not make suggestive comments about my much older brother! That puts me in a state of deep discomfort!"

She grinned. Iida cleared his throat.

"Now, let's go over the concept of the Lewis structure again!"

"_Ughhh_, but I'm _meeeelting_… let's get popsicles first."

"That is not conducive to studying," he told her, and sighed, taking off his glasses. "Look, Yokoyama, everyone says UA's practical exam is more important than the written, but they still won't accept you if you fail. I genuinely do want to help, but… I can't do that unless you help me help you."

She chewed on her bottom lip, then patted Yuuka's medals on her desk. "My sister would always get popsicles with me when I asked her to…"

Iida's eyebrow twitched.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in her room again, eating popsicles. Orange for him, lemon-lavender for her.

"Shall we continue?" he offered, opening the textbook.

"…My sister would always let me play a video game before—"

"NO."

* * *

September rolled around. Leaves redden, the city air turning cool and grey.

White Nikes stepped over wet leaves on the way up the cemetery hill. They walked down a path of tall gravestones and paused in front of the one with _Yokoyama Yuuka_ carved down the polished stone. Incense was lit, wilted flowers were replaced with fresh daisies, hands pressed together and prayed.

"It's been two years," Kizuna said quietly, sticking her hands back in her hoodie pocket. "Sorry it's taken me so long to visit. I just… feel like an idiot, talking to a rock. I have a piece of you inside me all the time, so what's the point?"

There was so much she wants to say, and yet… nothing came out. It was just her and her own reflection on Yuuka's smooth, glossy memorial.

But it was hard to be vulnerable, even to the dead.

So Kizuna pulled out her phone and tapped in her sister's old number.

_Someone once said to me the world is worse without you. But I don't care about the world.  
I only care that you're gone, and I'm still here._

She bit the inside of her cheek.

Then she added, _Everything is lonelier now._

She stared at the text message, forcing back a well of emotions. She presseed send and stuffed her phone back into her pocket, swiping at her eyes.

It helped a little bit, to write it. Better than a shout to the sky, because that was too grandiose for someone like Yuuka, who once shoved an entire box of chicken nuggets into her mouth and gloated, _Beat you!_ At least here it was almost normal, almost another message she sent to her big sister, almost another day.

"Catch ya later, _sapo_." Kizuna patted the memorial and headed out of the cemetery.

When she reached the street, she put on her headphones and started running.

* * *

A month and a half left until the entrance exam.

Newly sixteen, Kizuna slowed down from her daily run and stepped into a convenience store. She needed chapstick. The winter air was dry and her bad habit of biting her lips (to check if she was still alive, which was, you know, a perfectly reasonable concern) had resulted in a constantly red, chapped mouth.

Working out had given her a real appetite again; her body was no longer a fragile twig. She filled out her running shorts and had to throw out all her jeans because they'd all gotten too tight. Quick, furtive glances flicked her way as she walked between the shelves, at the snow-haired girl with the sharp pink _don't talk to me_ glare and legs for days.

A group of boys barged in, practically kicking over a shelf right on top of Kizuna.

"Excuse me," she said pointedly.

She was ignored, though a boy with stretchy fingers waved and clicked his tongue at her. _Yuck_. Judging by their uniforms, they were from the local junior high. And judging by how they were all following the loud blond one with something akin to religious reverence, they had a hard-on for alpha types.

_Double yuck._

Between rows of bread, her eyes narrowed at the boys passing by on the other aisle. They picked up some drinks and tossed them between each other, talking loudly. The cashier was watching them with a vague, I'm-not-paid-enough-for-this-shit alarm. Thanks to the commotion, she clipped a chocolate pocky and a chapstick in her pocket.

"Nah, fuck this, they're all outta the All Might Pocari," the blond boy said loudly, and footsteps came up behind Kizuna as she was about to leave the store.

They exited at the same time. His shoulder knocked against hers, his harsh voice cutting the air. Viciously red eyes shifted in her direction.

He shoved past her with his friends, almost knocking her flat into the wall as if she were a bug.

What the _hell_!

God, it had been a while since she suffered such human right's abuses (excluding the whole kidnapping thing). If she hadn't already been so screwed up, this would've transported her right back into sixth grade with a bucket of dirty water splashed on her head.

She rubbed her arm, muttering _asshole _below her breath. (Ignore the fact that Kizuna just quietly robbed a convenience store. This was not about her.)

She changed the direction of her run, not wanting to go down the same street that asshole took. Instead, Kizuna took off toward the Dagobah Beach Park.

On her way, she came across a boy hopping along the sidewalk, wincing and clutching his ankle. Uh-oh. Probably slipped on an icy sidewalk. It was pretty rare to see other joggers out in this weather.

Those red kicks looked familiar.

She slowed down. "Need some help with that?"

"Uh—s-sorry?"

Kizuna squatted and clasped her hands over his ankle—ah, just a light sprain. He yelped in panic, then his eyes widened as the ligaments repaired themselves and the pain dispersed. He shook out his leg, marveling, and descended into rapid mumbling of which she could only make out 'healing' and 'incredible'. Then he snapped himself out of it and thanked her frantically, bowing his head of messy green over and over again.

"You're pretty fucked up," she observed, looking at the collection of bandages and bruises on his arms. "Training for something?"

He coughed a couple times and says nervously, with an abashed grin, "UA."

"Oh," she said, and his shoulders flinched like he's expecting a— "Cool, hope you get in."

A cursory comment, tossed to the side without much thought. But he seemed to stand up a little bit straighter.

They did the awkward 'just met you and now I'm trying to leave this conversation' dance, then realized they had the same plan: running to the beach.

"Midoriya Izuku," he introduced himself through exerted breath, his freckled cheeks flushed pink. "N-nice to meet you!"

He seemed like a nice guy. Kinda scrawny, but earnest. Their paces matched, feet against concrete, running in tandem.

They slowed into a walk as they arrived on the white sands, and she offered some of her shoplifted pocky for a post-run snack.

She asked about his painful-looking training and her eyes bugged when he pointed to the garbage dump about half a kilometer down the beach, the one that'd been steadily decreasing the past year, while rubbing the back of his head with a self-conscious grin. Yet, irritatingly, he was damn evasive when she asks what his Quirk is.

It had been a long, long time since she introduced herself to a stranger her own age. Everyone in Ekashi's village knew her as his granddaughter, or just Kizuna. Time to peel off the bandage. She'd have to get used to it.

When she said her family name, his eyes went wide.

"Yokoyama? Like the sidekick family? …Oh, crap, I mean—" His arms were clumsily askew over his sweaty face, as though to protect himself from a punch or his own internal embarrassment.

Honestly, he reminded her of a twitchy squirrel.

"No, you're right; most of our careers peak as sidekicks," she said wryly. He kept glancing at her, crunching on pocky. "…Trying to figure out how old I am? If my age matches?"

"No!" he said immediately, flustered again. "But… sorry, y-you _are_ her, right? The, sorry again, the one All Might found in the mountains two years ago?"

Kizuna flashed a peace sign, two pockies sticking out of her mouth like walrus tusks.

"Whoa," Midoriya uttered, and with great amusement she watched the transition of emotions across his face. "…Oh, oh, god. I'm sorry. T-Tutari was, um—"

"Yeah, that's okay." She flung the empty pocky box behind her.

He caught it before it hits the sand and jogged back over again. "So, um, kind of cool to not litter, but that's alright—hey, sorry, could I—could I try that again?"

"Don't force yourself. She's dead, y'know? No one's listening."

"Yeah," he said, after a beat. "Yeah, you're right." He crunched the pocky box between his fingers. "Are—are you listening though? I mean, is it alright if I talk to you about how awesome your sister was?"

She gave him an odd look. "What?"

He kept rambling as though he hadn't heard, "There was that one time when she slid underneath a truck flipping over to heal a motorcyclist—"

"—while the highway underneath them was falling," Kizuna muttered, her lips twitching. "Yeah, that was badass."

"And—and when Tutari teamed up with Ryukyu to rescue those hikers trapped in an avalanche—"

"Yeah, yeah! It was right after they graduated high school, too. They were both just rookies when that happened, you know."

"That's awesome! Oh, and she used to say this cool thing whenever she was interviewed. Remember, when they'd all ask her h-how she could jump into the line of fire, even without a combat Quirk?"

"Of course! She always said, 'no guts, no glory!' I must've watched those interviews at _least_ a thousand times!"

"Whoa! As expected of Tutari's number one fan!"

"_Hey_," Kizuna snapped, her smile vanishing.

Midoriya turned pink again, glancing to the side. "Um, too much?"

She studied him through narrowed eyes. When was the last time she'd breathlessly fangirled over her sister like this?

"No," she mumbled, kicking up sand with her shoe and feeling oddly shy. "No, just right."

They grinned at each other.

"Midoriya, my boy! You're early!"

They both looked up to see a skinny blond man, who paused on the sand. His shadowed eyes seemed to widen at the sight of her. Or maybe that was just the sun.

Midoriya glanced at her, for some reason nervous again. "This is, um…"

"Yokoyama Kizuna," she said.

Her nod was returned with a friendly smile. "A pleasure seeing you here," the man said cheerily. "Nothing like a brisk jog around the beach to get the blood pumping!"

"You're training to get into UA with _him_?" she muttered to Midoriya under her breath, and peeked over her shoulder again at the sickly-looking man, who was a sack of bones in baggy clothes. Oof. Fatgum could break him like a toothpick. "Good luck, shorty."

"And you," Midoriya called after her, "y-you're also aiming to be a hero, right?"

"General Department! Maybe I'll support you as a sidekick one day, Mr. Future Hero!"

Waving goodbye at the funny green boy, Kizuna jogged on home.

She reached it faster than expected. Hopping on her toes, she checked her phone. She still had a half-hour to kill before she needed to get ready for the tutor.

Taking a deep breath, she began another run around the neighborhood. In nine months, her mile time went from eighteen minutes to just under seven. She could bench fifty pounds. She could heal a sprained wrist in under a minute.

Her heart pumped encouragingly, _one-two, one-two_.

* * *

The day of the UA entrance exam, Kizuna woke up with an upset stomach.

_In the grand scheme of things, this test isn't important_, she thought, forcing herself to swallow a few mouthfuls of breakfast lest she pass out during the exam. _Like, is it more important than lowering the poverty rate? Than civil rights? No, not really._

_It's fine if I fail,_ she thought on the subway ride over, staring glassily out the window.

_Nothing matters anyway, my life is a meaningless speck in the history of the universe_, she thought, looking at the text Fatgum sent her. It was a sticker of the BMI Hero himself, giving her a cartoony thumbs-up with a wide, Totoro-esque smile.

He added, _I'm in Tokyo today! After the test, let's celebrate!_

…She did a quick barf in the bathroom and headed onward to the executi—no, no, the auditorium of UA.

Other prospective students were milling around, talking excitedly or otherwise looking just as nervous as her. She spied Iida Tenya and waved at him, but he was staring at the paper in front of him with such a look of concentration he probably wouldn't see a nuclear bomb if it hit him in the face.

A boy with purple hair and an evil-looking face sat down next to her without much more than a sideways glance. Kizuna fidgeted in her seat. Students around her were wishing each other luck. Hm. Couldn't hurt. Good mojo, right?

She leaned over to her seat partner and says, "Um, goo—"

"WELCOME TO TODAY'S LIVE PERFORMANCE! EVERYBODY SAY HEY!"

The scary-looking guy turned to look at her, ostensibly in bewilderment. Kizuna sunk lower in her seat, covering her burning face. Fuck this.

* * *

They were ushered into a pretend city block, the empty office buildings and fake car garages built with disturbing realism. Alas, she wasn't placed in the same block as Iida. She didn't spot messy green hair around, either. Well, that was okay. All she needed to do was heal a couple people, to show off Yuuka's Quirk to the examiners. That should be enough to get her into the General Department.

Kizuna bounced lightly on her toes, buckling on a highlighter-yellow bicycle helmet. She had on kneepads and elbow pads over her jacket and leggings. Several students, who at first may have snuck an appreciative look at her legs, were now snickering at her dorky appearance.

When Present Mic shouted _begin_! the students around her rushed forward in a tidal wave, knocking her to the ground.

She spat out dirt, a vein throbbing on her forehead. This was why she always hated participating. In anything.

Barely thirty seconds into the exam, she wanted to give up. Everyone said it was better to have tried and failed, but how about not trying and not failing and not having your humiliation witnessed by a hundred people?

The ground trembled. As another wave of villain bots swarmed the street, Kizuna crawled behind a building, paralyzed, eyes squeezed shut in panic. Oh, god! This was too real! Bots tore through buildings, flinging debris everywhere. Other students were shouting, trying their best to hold their own. Of course it was real, it _should _be real. She'd grown up around heroes risking their lives all the damn time and making shitty jokes about their occupational hazards. _Yuuka,_ she clutched her heart, hiding her face in her knees,_ help me._

Grey boots were barely visible between her knees, pacing in front of her.

"It's harder than it looks, huh? Get up, crybaby. What's the worst that can happen? You'll die?" Hands on hips, head tilted, a fanged smile. "Are you still afraid of dying? Don't you know I'm right here, waiting for you?"

Her eyes watered. Of all the places to suddenly be overwhelmed by the absence of her sister, she would've never guessed it'd be in the middle of a high school entrance exam with buildings blowing up around her.

"You have my Quirk, you have my heart. What more do you need to be brave?"

Right. Her heart thumped. She gulped in one last, deep breath of air.

"No guts—"

"No glory," Kizuna finished, slapping her helmet.

She bulleted across the street, dragging hurt students behind still-standing buildings and healing their wounds, then took off searching for more injured. She slid between a row of mowed-down bots, debris pinging against her neon helmet, to help a kid with his wings trapped. There was a blond boy who seems to have electrocuted ten bots as well as himself; she pulled him out of the wreckage.

Eight minutes in, it seemed like every kid who wanted to give up had done so; everywhere she looked, there's a fellow examinee blasting away bots with ease. Just a little more! She could keep going!

"_Can someone get hurt in my close proximity, please_!?"

Hollering and waving her hands like she was trying to flag down a wayward taxi, Kizuna rounded the corner and came face-to-face with a two-point Venator. It jerked mechanically around, a laser beam locking onto her head.

Her mind blanked.

The laser charged, whirring.

In a flash, a spiky-haired blur smashed into it with a swing of his fist and a blazing roar. She stumbled back, hair flying across her face. The bot exploded into little bits and pieces that nicked his arms when they flew past him. The boy landed on his feet, sweat running down his arms and black tank.

"Are you alright!?" She reached out. "Let me heal you!"

He spun around. It was the boy with the cutting red eyes, from the convenience store.

Faster than a snake, he grabbed her wrist in a vice grip. "Fuck off! Don't slow me down!"

…What.

What?

_WHAT_?

"_You_ want to be a hero?" she gasped, utterly appalled, as a large shadow falls over them.

His eyes snapped to hers, furious. A massive, zero-point Executor loomed over the cityscape, crushing the building right next to them as it stomps closer, but Kizuna barely noticed, she is pure rage, rage, rage—

"I said out of _my fucking way_!" he thundered up at the bot, his grip tightening on her wrist.

—heat that wasn't hers boiled through her, bursting through her lungs like fireworks, a deafening, audacious _declaration_ of victory making her dizzy in the head—

With his other hand, he launched his Quirk.

An explosion detonated, crashing into Kizuna's ears, ripping asshole's hand off her wrist, and blowing her off her feet. Her bike helmet smashed against the concrete and flew off. The _BOOM_ was so loud that for a moment, all the fighting in the vicinity stopped and everyone looked up at the dust clears.

A pair of steaming metal legs fell from the sky. The Executor had been blown clear through the entire street of fake buildings. All that was left of the ex-bot was charred metal. All that was left of the street was rubble.

He looked down at his smoking hand, then back at the white-haired girl wincing on the ground.

* * *

"Bakugou Katsuki," the examiners murmured. "Such power!"

The screens were lit up with his snarling face, the powerful force of his explosions blasting away the bots.

Principal Nezu rubbed his chin, looking closer. "Is it really just his?"

All Might's gaze was pulled from watching his protégé to the Yokoyama attached at Bakugou's hand, her pink eyes blazing in fury, right before he unleashed an explosion that decimated half the city block.

* * *

So, that was a total failure.

Kizuna was so agitated that she started mixing up her Quirks. When she tried to heal a red-haired boy, the left side of his body erupted into hard, craggy formations that made him topple over with a startled yell. Shit, she never tried training herself to use both at the same time. She hadn't even used her original Quirk in years.

But it didn't matter.

She still ended up with zero points.

Other students were slumping away; fellow zeroes like her. Kizuna twisted her dirty hands around the bottom of her sweat-stained shirt, biting her lip. Would it be enough to get her into General?

…There was no sense dwelling on it. She still had work to do.

Recovery Girl was making her way through the other city blocks. But Kizuna could do a little to help the injured students here. While she went around healing, several students thanked her, recognizing the girl in the highlighter-helmet ardently screaming 'Free healing! Get your free healing right here!' as she sprinted around the streets. A girl with a cool haircut and cooler earphones even patted her on the back and said, "Nice going."

Kizuna hoped somehow Yuuka knew how much her Quirk was beloved. This was all thanks to her. She nodded back at the friendly looks, lightheaded from healing and post-test despair-adrenaline.

She found her bike helmet half-buried underneath a dead bot and dusted it off. Luckily, it only had a few scratches. Still wearable.

"Hey, you."

The blond ass rude-mouthed bastard-faced little fuckity fuck.

"You're not injured," she sourly pointed out. She would've liked to see him hobble to her on his knees, begging to be healed. "What do you want?"

A nasty scowl appeared, eyes narrowing into slits beneath yellow bangs. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

Kizuna ground her teeth, right hand twisting around her left wrist that she was pretty sure will start to bruise tomorrow. She could still hear thunderous fireworks of zealous ambition. It was dizzying. How could one boy have all that—

"Spit it out," he hoeld a palm up, knuckles sharp, fingers popping with mini explosions, "or I'll make you cry."

Her breath caught. The dark contempt was terrifying.

She averted her gaze. "I…"

A shadow with a looped white ponytail walked behind the rubble and called, "Big words for a shorty."

_…__Nah, fuck this._

"—actually, sorry!" Kizuna said with false cheer, looking at the blond boy. They were roughly the same height. "I can't hear short guys speak."

Red eyes twitched. "…I'll fucking DESTROY—"

Several brave students, spotting potential catastrophe, jumped on top of him in a dogpile. He went down with a stifled roar.

* * *

She stumbled through the written exam as best she could; it was less 'smooth sailing' and more 'spectacle of motorboats crashing into each other, with an oil tanker running over them and setting the ocean on fire'… but at least she answered all the questions. Maybe the practical saved her—_maybe_. She did heal a lot of people.

…And everyone was so _strong_. Way, way stronger than her. Was she really up to attend UA? There were plenty of smaller hero schools… there were plenty of normal schools… she could always go back to Hokkaido…

She moodily ruminated over this while heading to the izakaya Fatgum said to meet up at.

"Starvin'," the lanky hero greeted with a pained look on his face, his muscled arms bandaged up like he just got back from taking down a villain.

"Yeah," Kizuna grunted, her lower fangs jutting out in a manner not unlike a troll. "Can we save conversation until after food?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Fifteen minutes and several exhausted grumbles later, Fatgum upended an entire bowl of ramen into his mouth, slurping up the noodles, then dug into the plates of chicken and beef skewers. Kizuna was so hungry she inhaled a salmon roll without pausing to blink, then grabbed the last chicken skewer before it can disappear into Fatgum's infinite stomach.

After ordering a second round, she reached with her chopsticks. "Can I have your ginger?"

Fatgum paused, his eyes flickering.

Yuuka grinned back, eyes glittering, waggling his ginger from the end of her chopsticks. "Too slow, Taishirou," she chuckled, and he blinked, and Kizuna wore her sister's grin as she said victoriously, "Too slow, Fatgum."

He shook his head, clearing the water out.

"I never used to like ginger before." Kizuna considered the tartness as she chews. "Weird."

"So, kid," he wiped his mouth, "how'd it go?"

"Eh. If I pass, I pass. If I don't pass, that's fine, too."

"Well, it's good you ain't worried."

She ripped through a vegetable skewer, watching him go through plate after plate like an automated food machine. Kizuna rested her chin on her hand and sighed. After a few more of those lengthy exhalations, Fatgum hit the table.

"Alright, what's eatin' ya?"

She gloomily munched. "I'm… not the sort of person who _attends_ hero school."

"I thought your whole family came from—"

"That's not what I mean. I mean, like…" Dirtbag, she was a dirtbag. "I never wanted to be involved in heroics. I just wanted a life where I could play video games and do meaningless shit with friends on the weekends." Her fists clenched over the table. "I'm not talented enough to be a hero, and I'm not smart enough to be a real doctor. But what else am I supposed to do with this Quirk?"

"You're only, what, sixteen?" Fatgum said reasonably. "Don't worry about figurin' out stuff. You'll get into UA, you'll find out what ya wanna do. All that matters is that ya wanna go there, right?"

"I'm doing this 'cause All Might said I should," she snapped, on the defensive. "That's all. I don't actually, like, _care_."

His eyebrows shot up. He ran a hand through his wild hair, chewing, too polite to say the first thing that came to his mind.

Her long canines dug into her lip. Blunt nails, black polish chipping, sawed into the table.

Kizuna knew she couldn't keep acting like this. It was just so hard to admit she cared, because to care would mean admitting things have an effect on her, and admitting that would mean admitting she might possibly never, ever recover from What Happened.

"Sorry, I lied," she said in a small voice, and took a deep breath. "You… you know when an ice floe breaks off from the land, it floats away into the ocean?"

Fatgum nodded. She picked at the corner of the table.

"I've… felt like that since the day I woke up. Like… like I'm on an ice floe that's drifting farther and farther. And I can't see the land anymore."

The ice cubes in her cup melted with a clatter, dispersing bubbles to the top.

"But when All Might said I should go to UA to learn how to be a medic hero like Yuuka, I thought… _this is it_, this is what I have to do to reel myself back to shore. I don't know if I can do it—not even hero stuff, I mean, like school and my family and being, like, normal again—I don't know if I'm capable of any of it, but it's what her Quirk deserves." It was where this heart belonged. "And I… I want to try. Because I… care." She rubbed her arm. "A lot."

Fatgum set down his bowl and rested his enormous hands out on the table. "If this feels right to ya, then take it easy. Ain't no need to rush. If ya get in, if ya don't… hell, it's just a school." The roll of his eyes felt at once casual and earnest. "I didn't go to UA."

She grinned slightly at that, at his careless dismissal of the famous school, the relaxed shrug of his shoulders.

"How about: if ya don't get in, fly off n' see where your heart takes ya. If ya still wanna be a hero, come back in a few years and keep trainin'. I don't say this often, but you'll drown in internship offers just with your Quirk. Heroes would be outta their minds not to accept a healer in their offices. Sure, it's unorthodox, but you can build up experience that way for a couple years, then take the Hero License Exam. It's a longer route, but the destination's the same, ain't it?" Fatgum nodded, biting into a piece of fried chicken. "One step at a time, kid. You'll be just fine."

It was somehow exactly what she needed to hear.

Kizuna nibbled on the end of a skewer, her smile tiny and relieved. "Thanks, Fatgum." She tried to stuff down the thick, teary feeling in her chest, and when the waitress came around to ask if they'd like anything else, said, "Matcha ice cream, please!"

"Ya sure are different from Tutari," he said quietly.

She'd heard it all before. Smarter, kinder, prettier, adored, loved, nothing like her ill-mannered and bratty younger sister… "How so?" Kizuna replied, expecting one or all of the above.

After a moment's consideration, he grinned. "She always ordered red bean instead of matcha."

That caught her off-guard, and she snorted into her wrist. "Now we know who's the dumber sister."

There was a shadow sitting at the table beside them, a shadow with a looped ponytail who smirked, "Hey, I resent that," but when Kizuna looked over, it was just a man eating with his family. She rubbed away the steam in her eyes and turned back to dinner and the orange hero hitting the table as he laughed.

* * *

Her post-entrance exam gift to herself was being a slug and playing video games all week. When her grandmother called her name downstairs, her bed was covered with cookies, chips, and crumbs. Empty pocky boxes and greasy packets of fries fell to the ground as a blanket-covered head stuck up and peeked out the window. Iida Tenya was outside, handing over a basket of fresh fruit to her grandfather that was no doubt sent by his mother.

Kizuna crammed on socks, ran a comb through her unwashed hair, and hustled downstairs to say hi. She didn't have the heart to tell him she bombed the exam, though maybe he could tell from the shifty look on her face.

"Whatever happens, Yokoyama," Iida told her seriously, "it was an honor fighting this battle by your metaphorical side."

"Our families will still see each other during holidays." Kizuna clasped his shoulder. She heard he did great. She was pretty proud. "It's not like I'll die or anything if I don't get in."

His face paled. "Forgive me!"

"F-for what?"

"For—for—forgive my unsightly behavior! I shall be off!" He dashed down the street, leaving her blinking in confusion after him.

Her grandmother was watching with a suspicious grin through the window. Actually, a run sounded nice. All the better to avoid weird questions.

She laced up her Nikes and went out for a jog to the beach. She went slow, wincing from all the junk food and soda now swishing around in her stomach. Maybe gorging on sweets and fries wasn't such a good idea.

When she finally got to the Dagobah Beach Park, the beautiful vista of the sea was uncrowded by broken refrigerators and couches with stuffing and springs popping out. Couples were out walking on the pier and standing on the gazebo over the ocean. That crazy kid really did it.

"Midoriya!" she called, waving, slightly out of breath.

The boy jogging on the sidewalk paused, his eyes brightening. "Yokoyama! H-how'd you do?"

"Zero points!" she sang cheerfully. "Still waiting for my rejection letter. And you?"

His face turned red. _Oh? Oh ho ho?_

"Come on, say it," she encouraged. He looked down, bashful. "Say it already!" she ordered, scowling.

A smile burst across Midoriya's face. "_I—I m-made it into the Hero Department_!"

"Nice going, you!" She thwaped him across the arm in glee and then paused. Was she actually unironically happy? …Gross.

"And you—you'll definitely get into the General Department with your Quirk!" he said with a heartening beam. "Everyone wants a healer to succeed! And you must've gotten points for resc—"

"It's not really mine."

He looked at her blankly. "…Sorry?"

"I mean—sorry, it's nothing." She stretched her arms over her head, the waves lapping up the shore and seagulls flying low. "You know, I'd rather have All Might's power. I'd love to feel _strong_ for once."

"I… I think you're plenty strong," Midoriya said, then waved his hands around. "B-but I don't mean your Quirk! Just… the way you talk. I'm not saying you talk weird or anything! Just how you, kind of, um, carry yourself." He ducked his head again, nervous but still smiling. "It's… cool."

Kizuna stared.

She burst out laughing.

Clutching her stomach, she hollered, "_Heeeeey_!" at the couples walking along the beach. She pointed at Midoriya and yelled, "This kid's gonna be a hero! He's gonna save us all someday!" She kept shouting and giggling, as the boy tried desperately to lower her arm. "And one day I'm gonna support him as a sidekick! Everyone—oh, it's your trainer! Oops, do you think he heard me?"

Judging by how the skinny blond man was wheezing, he did.

* * *

When her last volunteer shift at the urgent care center was over (the nurses were oddly teary-eyed at her leaving, even though she did nothing but inconvenience them and pretend she was a wizard to all the little kids that came in), Kizuna took a long, meandering walk back through a snowy avenue, white slush on the sidewalk already crushed by countless footsteps. She sent photos to Ekashi and wished she had Wakka with her. Snow from anywhere else but Hokkaido just wasn't the same.

When she got back to the house, she hung up her thick winter jacket and was about to head to the kitchen for food when she heard voices in the dining room. Loud voices. Happy… voices…? That couldn't be right.

"The star arrives," her grandfather chuckled when she poked her head into the dining room, and she was pretty sure she'd fallen into another dimension. "Well done!"

"Kizuna-chan!" her grandmother practically sobbed. "You've been accepted!"

She blinked, taken aback. "Oh—cool! So…" Kizuna looked between Principal Nezu and Recovery Girl sitting at their dining table, "…wait, what's happening?"

"Nice to meet you, Yokoyama Kizuna," the mouse… dog… bear principal said with a polite, cheerful smile. "Your sister was an excellent student during her time at UA, and it pleases us all that you're following in her path. Now, to get right into it, you're being considered as a special case."

Kizuna furrowed her brow, confused.

"To be blunt, your written exam left quite a bit to be desired, and you achieved zero villain points in the practical."

"I'm… aware." _Of my shame._

"However," he said, holding a paw up, "you pulled through the exam by sticking to your guns. During the practical, there was a hidden tally of rescue points! You spent the entire ten minutes dragging students out of harm's way and healing them. Afterwards, you continued to heal everyone who needed it. Despite being unable to fight any villains, you scored the highest rescue points out of all the examinees and displayed the spirit of a true medic hero!"

Holy motherfucking fuckballs.

"Normally, this would qualify you to join the Hero track," Nezu continued, as her grandfather huffed in pride, "but heroism is focused on combat and your current skills are lacking. Therefore, we'd like you to join General Studies with the understanding that with enough improvement, you could be transferred to the Department of Heroes."

Her grandmother clapped in glee, but Kizuna couldn't hear anything other than _Department of Heroes_.

"Meanwhile, you'll have classes with General Studies, but you'll also be working as a healer at UA. You'll start your work-study program immediately, under the tutelage of Recovery Girl."

She picked her jaw up off the floor and said tentatively, "Isn't that what Yuuka did?"

Recovery Girl smiled as she dropped candy in her grandfather's stoic lap and patted his head. "Indeed, she started out with a mentorship with me. Because of her… mental health, your sister never made it into the Hero track… but she always wanted to."

Yuuka's heart was beating a drum inside her.

"I'd like that." A smile grew across Kizuna's face, ecstatic. "I'd _really_ like that."

Principal Nezu smiled back. "Welcome to UA!"

* * *

Ekashi made a big show of cheering and blowing a pretend party horn as she videochatted him with her new high school uniform on. A year late and a couple failures along the way, but she made it back to school. Wakka happily woofed at her, rubbing his nose at the phone screen. Wiping his eyes (fuck, he's gonna make _her_ cry now), Ekashi reminded her that if it ever gets too much, she could come back home anytime.

_First day at UA_, she texted Yuuka._ I don't know what I'm doing. Anyway, I like ginger now and I think it's your fault. Isn't life just a ball?_ There, now that she established she knows how self-aware and funny she was, Kizuna concluded the message with _Miss you_, and sent it off into the void.

The scar on her chest was pale now, lighter than the sandy-brown skin surrounding it. She buttoned her shirt over the long, vertical gash between her breasts and knotted the tie around her neck. Her white hair was short and wavy around her chin, black tights covering her legs, and her uniform was freshly steamed. She looked… decent. Like a normal teenage girl.

Kizuna sighed and rested her forehead on the mirror. "What am I doing…?"

What _was_ this?

Could she really do it? Play pretend? Trick heroes like Fatgum and a school like UA into thinking that she could be a hero? That she could be as good, as worthy as Yuuka? This wasn't some goddamn elementary school theater production. This act would continue for the rest of her life.

She would live as her sister's shadow for the rest of her life.

But then.

Maybe that was okay.

…Good, even.

She closed her eyes, inhaling quietly.

When she opened them, Yuuka's there.

Through the mirror, she brushed off Kizuna's shoulders and adjusted her tie. She was dressed in the same outfit Kizuna saw her in the morning of that day; a black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, black jeans, bandages on her arm. Her long white hair was looped through her hair tie, forming a floppy O over her shoulder.

"You look just like I did when I was your age," Yuuka said, beaming.

A sad smile grew on her lips. "Thanks."

Yuuka's scar and their age difference were the main reasons why most said the sisters didn't look alike, but those who paid attention would notice their eyes were the exact same shade of pink.

"Sorry for dragging you back here. You were almost free from all this."

Her fingers touched the glass and she whispered, "What happened?"

With infinite tenderness, Yuuka rested her cheek over her little sister's head.

Then she said, still smiling, "You could go to my old school, have my heart, my hair, and my Quirk, but nothing can make up for how miserable you made me. I spent my entire life hating you. Hating that I had an irresponsible, selfish, worthless sister to look after. You could be whatever you wanted, while I was bound to my Quirk, saving everyone's life except for my own. This is my gift to you, _mataki_. All Might said it best. I died laughing."

Downstairs, her grandmother called, "Kizuna! Breakfast!"

She jolted and harshly rubbed her burning eyes.

In the mirror, it was just her.

* * *

The soaring glass towers of UA flashed in the sunlight, growing bigger as they near the school.

The car rolled to a stop next to the sidewalk. Kizuna took off her headphones and said to the austere old man sitting to her left, "Grandfather, if UA doesn't work out, what do you think about me… um, studying abroad for a little while?"

"A splendid idea. Then, in exchange for financially supporting a failure and an embarrassment to the family, I'll see to it you're wedded to a promising suitor. Despite your recent troubles, many families are still interested."

"…Cool. Thanks." Backpack in hand, she opened the door with her elbow. Yuuka's white Nikes hit the pavement.

"Don't disappoint us, Kizuna," her grandfather said.

The car was already moving before she completely shut the door.

She shouldered her backpack, following the crowd of excited students eager to start the school year. Then Kizuna spotted something that improved her mood immensely. She caught up to red kicks and messy hair, a hand landing on his shoulder.

The boy turned, and Midoriya Izuku grinned at her.

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"That's what happened. That's how I ended up with her Quirk at UA."

The grey man tilted his head, hands crossed neatly in front of him. "Bored now. Let's get to the good part."

Her white hair glistened like a knife blade in the dark. She remembered spring on a snowy hill, All Might embracing her with a quiet plea for her forgiveness. She remembered how she once foolishly proclaimed she'd be the sidekick to the strongest student in her year—the kid well on his way to being a hero.

Gone were those days of peace. Those days when she didn't know anything.

Kizuna stepped forward. "Yuuka was secretly working for you before she died. I want to finish what she started."

A haunted smile formed beneath the grey hand.

"Then, little healer," Shigaraki rasped, "are you ready to follow in your sister's footsteps and be a villain?"

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_i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)_

e.e. cummings

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glossary

ainu  
(thanks to a john batchelor dictionary (not great but it's something), and kirsten refsing's the ainu language (much more comprehensive, but about thirty million tiers above my brain cell count))

_ezo_: hokkaido  
_tutari_: yuuka's hero name; a mix of _tusare_ (to heal) and _utari_ (friend/comrade)  
_ekashi_: grandfather  
_eani shukupashnu ne ruwe ne_: "you've grown, haven't you!"  
_cironnup-po_: little (po) fox (cironnup); ekashi's nickname for kizuna  
_wakka_: water; ekashi's dog  
_haskap_: fly honeysuckle  
_konru_: ice  
_matagi_: a hunter  
_kamuy_: gods  
_yuk ohaw_: venison stew  
_ainu mosir_: lit. human and land; the homeland of the humans  
_sapo_: addressing an older sister  
_mataki_: addressing a younger sister

japanese

_shakkoi_: hokkaido dialect, means cold (versus the standard japanese _tsumetai_)  
_kizuna_: 絆; connection, tether, also to shackle and bind  
_yuuka_: 癒宇花; heal, universe, and flower  
_yokoyama_: 横山; lit. beside the mountain; a well-known clan that produces heroes with support quirks (often derided as 'sidekick fodder'), notable for their quirk marriages into houses that seek compatible powers to produce stronger offspring

misc

_neogenesis_: yuuka's quirk; hastens cellular recovery at hyper-speed, usually through skin contact or hair (in both cases, the user must consciously activate her quirk); can't self-heal and can't regenerate lost limbs/organs or cure terminal illnesses; effects are better with medical knowledge and dependent on user's stamina  
_exalt_: kizuna's quirk; strengthens other people's quirks through skin contact at the cost of her stamina; lack of training makes this quirk emotion-based, activating automatically under stress


	2. can we be friends?

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**I CARRY YOUR HEART**

CAN WE BE FRIENDS?

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When Kizuna was seven, she stood on top of a mound of dirt she made (it was the tallest mound of dirt in all of Japan, probably) and loudly proclaimed through a slight lisp, "I'm gonna be the best hero ever! I'm gonna make everyone stronger and happier and nobody in the whole world will ever be sad again!"

She held one fist up to the sky, beaming. Her pink eyes glinted with the fervor of childlike righteousness. She was young, but _strong_; she was small, but her heart was enormous and could probably block out the sun if she wanted it to! But Kizuna won't try, of course, because that wasn't very hero-like of her to kill the poor sun, especially when it tried so hard every day to wake her up!

The other children on the playground stopped their current activity and swung their heads around to gawk.

"No way," laughed a boy. "Your Quirk isn't good enough to be a _real_ hero. You're gonna be a sidekick."

Kizuna huffed aside loose strands of black coming out of her wavy ponytail. "Sidekicks," she said importantly, "are heroes too!"

The rest of the sandbox population did not agree with her statement.

"_Pfffft_. That's so lame."

"My parents say your whole family are looooosers. And your dad's a second-rate hero. He's not popular at all!"

Her cheeks turned beet-red. "S-so!? Who cares if—"

"Sidekick! Sidekick! Sidekick!" While chanting, they stuck their feet in her excellent pile of dirt and she stumbled to the ground.

Kizuna scowled, brushing off her knees. "Fine! When you fight villains and die, I won't care! I won't help you!"

Silence.

Eyes narrowed, unforgiving.

"Fugly jerk." With a flick of a boy's hand, her foot slipped into a puddle of quicksand. "Why won't you help us? Is that what a hero should say?"

She struggled in the sand, trying to wrench her foot free. Now this was a proper, strong Quirk; at age seven, Kizuna was well aware of the difference between them.

"B-but," she stuttered, "you said I wouldn't be a—"

"Kizuna-chan, you'll probably end up as a villain," a girl sniffed pompously.

"Her Quirk's not cool enough." A fist hit a palm in a eureka moment. "You'll be a villain's sidekick! Like Igor!"

A foot swung forward and rested on top of her head, wiping the remnants of Japan's tallest pile of dirt on her hair. "Use your lame Quirk, Igor! Make me stronger!"

"Speak up! We can't hear you!"

"We made Igor cry! The heroes win again!"

When Kizuna was seven, she learned that the taste of wet sand in her mouth, the tears rolling down her cheeks, and the laughter ringing in her ears could all be solved by sinking her sharp teeth in the ankle of the quicksand boy, pulling her foot free when he started bawling, and running away as fast as she can back home. She dove into her sister's bed, dirty legs crossed and pink eyes hugely somber, and announced, "Maybe I will be a very bad person when I grow up. 'm never being a hero, ever, ever, ever. I'll be a monster and live in the woods until a hero comes to slay my evil, witchy heart."

Yuuka rubbed her tired eyes with bandaged fingers, her laughter warm. "You'd be the cutest villain ever. Definitely my favorite."

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On the first day of school, Class 1-C was buzzing with excitement.

Students introduced themselves and their Quirks, and talked about the cool hero they hoped they'd get as a homeroom teacher. Nervous students rearranged textbooks on their desks, while others rearranged their uniforms in anticipation of starting the school year looking like the cream of the crop. Which they were, of course. The curriculum of UA's General Department was well-known to be just as rigorous as any other top-ranked high school in Japan.

The air was rife with enthusiasm and possibility.

Throughout it all, the astute observer would notice eyes flickering to a girl sitting in the back of the class, with piercings in her ears and messy, chin-length white hair tucked behind one ear. The top button of her shirt was flicked open and the signature red tie of UA was loose around her neck. Metal rings glistened on her fingers. White Nikes on her feet, instead of the recommended brown loafers. Sharp, foxlike eyes that seemed to be silently communicating _stay away_.

They had no idea she was in the middle of texting her grandpa, _I'm too anxious to talk to anyone, Ekashi! School is weird! I can't do this! Ahhhhhhhh save me (or send over a picture of Wakka before I die)!_

A guy sat down two rows up and across from Kizuna. Fluffy purple hair. Tired eyes. Kinda evil-looking.

Oh—didn't they sit next to each other in the entrance exam? Maybe she should say hi…

Or maybe she'd just rest her chin on her hand, gazing out the window. It looked like a class was doing some sort of P.E. exercise at the other end of the field. She spied Iida's engines whipping up dust.

"Great, the Hero course is goofing off with their Quirks," said a boy with a curled pompadour, who was also watching. "Meanwhile, our friggin' homeroom teacher is late."

When they walked into UA together, Midoriya mentioned that he was in Class 1-A. The year is starting off with two Hero course classes, but she heard in the past there'd only ever been one. Some asshole kept expelling his students. It'd be _hilarious_ if Midoriya had him for a homeroom teacher.

The window crashed open.

Kizuna jumped up so fast her chair fell with a clatter, her hand flying into her jacket pocket and clenching around a switchblade. (She was _not_ going to get attacked _again_—)

…And then stared at a man in a grey trenchcoat clambering in. He fell to the ground, out of breath. "Close shave! Had to take the long way to UA to get the chumps off my tail! And by chumps I mean the spies sent by an international drug cartel!"

The shout was greeted by silence.

Kizuna's jaw dropped. _Is this weirdo…_

A girl with six eyes asked the rest of the class, "…Our homeroom teacher, anyone?"

Kizuna quietly picked up her chair and plopped back down in it. She didn't notice purple-hair guy watching her, mentally making note of the only student in the class to react.

The man brushed off his trenchcoat, then took out a retractable cane from his sleeve and limped over to the class podium. His right leg dragged behind his left. He looked to be in his mid-forties, quite tall, with prominent eyebrows, a five-o-clock shadow, and suspenders holding up his rumpled brown trousers. They watched him take out a thermos of coffee from inside his coat, then a silver flask.

"This is soda water, by the way," the man assured. He poured the contents of the flask into the thermos and chugged it straight-up.

The students thought collectively, _That has to be vodka, right…_

"Excuse me," the girl with six eyes raised her hand, "but you're not a Pro Hero, are you? I don't recognize you."

"Nope! Retired gumshoe, at your service! That's detective slang for you hard boys and hellcats. Head on over to your seats so we can get started! I'm your homeroom teacher! The name's Detective Goro, but feel free to call me Goro-sensei!"

He paused for effect.

The class said nothing as they head to their seats. Several students looked bummed, their earlier enthusiasm vanishing. "Goro-sensei!" exclaimed a cheerful cloud sitting next to Kizuna. The girl had a puffy cloud for a head, decorated with cute clips of stars.

"Alright, sister!" Goro shouted in approval.

Class 1-C continued to wonder if they've made the right decision in attending UA. "I heard 1-B got Vlad King as a teacher," one guy hissed. "_Vlad King_."

"Now, if I could be serious for a moment…" Goro took out a clipboard from inside his coat. The class breathed a sigh of relief. "It's not lost upon me that the General Department of UA was the first choice for some of you. This is a prestigious school, and the Pro Heroes who teach here are also immensely knowledgeable in their own academic fields. You'll receive a fine education that will prepare you for university, criminal justice, law enforcement, or all of the above."

A few heads around the class nodded.

Goro cleared his throat. "But let's cut the boloney! Most of you are in General Studies because you didn't make it into the Hero Department. To be more accurate, your _Quirks_ didn't make it in!"

He hit the nail on the head without flinching. Kizuna watched faces fall around her. Over half the class, at least, had been aiming for the Hero course. Sitting above her, purple-hair guy touched the back of his neck.

"As the saying goes, our Quirks define us before we're even born." Goro waved at the class. "Just for fun, would anyone like to guess my Quirk?"

Students exchanged nervous glances, waiting for the first to speak. Finally, the guy with the curled pompadour whispered, "Maybe some kind of… minor telekinesis Quirk? That's pretty common, right?"

"But he's teaching at UA. It should be something awesome."

"No, he's a detective, so it should be something smart."

"A handcuffing power?"

"He said Quirk, not kink."

"At least I'm _thinking_ of something!"

Kizuna raised her hand. "Bad fashion sense," she proposed.

Stifled laughter, heads turning around to peer at the moron at the back of the class. She laced her hands on her desk, smiling innocently. The shock of their homeroom teacher had worn off. She found him pretty funny.

"We got a wiseguy in here. Ain't that right, Yokoyama Kizuna?" Goro grinned back at her. Obviously, he'd been briefed about the special circumstances of her attending UA. But she wondered how much he knew.

The class immediately began whispering. "_Yokoyama? Like from that family_?"

"The sidekick clan," someone interjected with a snicker.

A girl with two low pigtails rebuked, "Don't be rude."

Kizuna tried to ignore them.

"Your Quirk, Yokoyama, if you please," Goro said.

Quirk, singular. _Thanks, Principal Nezu_. "Healing."

"_Whoa._"

"_Wasn't there a medic hero who_—"

"_She died, right?_"

"Healing! A rare, excellent Quirk. But it won't get you into the Hero Department, no sir. Can't fight with it. What about you, Jack? Yeah, you with the tired eyes." Goro ran a finger down the clipboard. "Shinsou Hitoshi. What's the power that didn't make it into the Hero track?"

A head of purple hair rose. "…Brainwashing."

Was it just Kizuna, or did the air get a couple degrees cooler?

"Another splendid Quirk. If the UA entrance exam this year had been against humans instead of bots, you likely would've made it."

Students murmured, stealing glances at Shinsou.

"Healing and brainwashing," Goro mused. "Two Quirks that can't be more extreme. Do you think your lives have been defined by your powers?"

Kizuna busied herself with studying the intricacies of her mechanical pencil.

"Obviously," Shinsou answered for them. "This is the society we live in. Status, class, standards of living. All of that can be dependent on the Quirk you're born with."

"Mm. Interesting. Any guesses what mine is, Shinsou?"

"…I vote bad fashion sense," he said, and Kizuna's eyes flashed up.

"No! My Quirk is actually… lie detection!"

A few gasped. Truly, a terrifying Quirk for a teacher.

"Yes, that's right!" Goro exclaimed, his arms wide open. "I could say that Shinsou here, despite what he just said about our lives being dependent on our Quirks, actually doesn't think it's fair! And he'd be right. It isn't."

Shinsou's shoulders were so tense Kizuna could sharpen a knife on them.

"Well, I _could_ say that… however, my lie detection only works on criminals who are already strapped into a lie detector! Bwahaha! Detective joke!"

The class stared. Kizuna saw a vein jumping in the back of Shinsou's neck. The teacher was totally fucking with them.

"Anyway," Goro cleared his throat, "my _real _Quirk is… constant paranoia! That's how I've managed to evade my enemies for the past forty-five years! The second I exited utero, I immediately knew my birth was a conspiracy made by The Man! My whole life was defined by this Quirk! Every failed marriage, every mysterious phone call, every time I peeked through the blinds of my office to ponder the location of my nemeses!"

Students peeked at each other, silently agreeing, _Thank god we weren't born with that_.

"Even my Quirk is better than his," the girl sitting in front of Kizuna whispered.

"I guess if you have a Quirk like that, there's no choice but to end up as a weird detective," said another.

Kizuna looked down at her hands, squeezing them together.

"Some might say I was ruined by this Quirk!" Goro shouted, grinning like an oaf. "But I argue the only reason I stand here before you today is because of it! Famous retired detective Goro, compulsively paranoid, and yet still alive! Bwahaha—"

Kizuna stood up with a screech of her chair. "Why are you laughing!"

The teacher stopped mid-breath.

She didn't care he was supposed to be her teacher, or that he was an adult, or—whatever. It was the same stupid bullshit she's heard all her life.

"No one in their right mind would say what you've been through is good!" She turned to the rest of her silent, staring class. "He's making the argument that our lives are, like, controlled by our Quirks. Whether or not that's true is another thing, but—it shouldn't be good. You can't… _glamorize_ it and shrug it off and tell your own students it's okay. I don't think it's wrong to want to be more than our Quirks."

Kizuna took a breath, waiting for someone else to chime in, agreeing.

The class was silent.

After an awkward pause, she sat back down in her seat. _Whatever_, Kizuna thought, detaching herself from the world again and staring out the window. _It's not like it even applies to me anymore. I'm here at UA, doing something I thought I'd never do. It's all bullshit._

But one person raised their hand.

"Sensei," Shinsou said calmly, "you don't have a Quirk, do you?"

Kizuna's elbow slipped off her desk.

Goro crossed his arms. "Do you know who I am? One of the most respected detectives in Tokyo, who's solved decades-old homicide cold cases and found serial killers the public long thought disappeared. Now I teach at UA, which produces the finest heroes in the country. You think _I_ would be Quirkless?"

"Yeah."

The entire class, jaws swinging open, watched the glare on their teacher's face… turn into a pleased smile. "You'd be correct. Shinsou, Yokoyama, well done."

"What," the class said, Kizuna's voice among them. "_What_!?"

Goro limped around the podium and rested his back against it. "I didn't graduate from a prestigious school like UA. I became a detective the hard way. I put myself through college while working at a local courthouse. I spent a decade as an undercover detective. When I was shot in a deal gone wrong, I didn't have a Quirk to protect myself with." He tapped his bad leg with his cane. "Took me a year to learn how to walk again. But I'm fortunate; I still have my legs."

A hush descended.

But this, too, was heroism.

"I worked alongside Pro Heroes. I busted trafficking rings, put killers behind bars. I did it without a Quirk. Now I ask all of you: are we shackled to the gifts we're born with, which we have no control over?" Goro gripped his hand over his chest, his whole face shining. "I say no. I say we can choose to make our own gifts, on our own terms."

Kizuna found herself hanging onto every word, her eyes wide. She wasn't… _really_ sure if she believed it, but…

_But what a thing to say_.

"What you were born with doesn't define you. I'm sure this is something very different from what you've heard your whole lives, and it's different from what many people believe, even here in these halls. But when you're in my classroom, know this: all that matters is your limitless potential."

Detective Goro hit the podium with the palm of his hand. Every spine jolted up straight.

"Welcome to the General Department. If you think this is a track where you can slack off and graduate with the UA name, think again. I expect work ethic, integrity, and discipline from every one of you."

* * *

In History, the teacher asked, "Who can tell me the three biggest impacts of Quirks as it relates to artificial intelligence of military drone strikes?"

In Math: "If a burning building is twenty meters wide and thirty-two meters tall, and you can run x meters per second to save one hundred people trapped inside, how can you solve for x?"

In Science: "Describe the process of cells to maintain homeostasis, using the Luminescent Baby's DNA structure in your textbook as an example of how Quirks evolved with biological functions."

Goro brought over a special guest lecturer, a former public defender who normally taught third-years. "I argued on behalf of petty villains and small-time crooks, often put in circumstances beyond their control," she said, a severe gaze pinning down the nervous freshmen. "Does anyone know the wrongful conviction rate in Tokyo? No? Well, you best drill this into your heads."

During an extended break, 1-C finally had time to exhale.

"Isn't this just supposed to be the General Department?" Ishizaki bemoaned, resting his cheek on a textbook. "I'm already drowning, man."

"The Hero course guys probably aren't even learning about this as thoroughly as we are," says Agoyamato, the guy with the pompadour and hefty chin. "Half their studies are probably about beating up villains. Meanwhile, we're writing essays on… Industrial Advancements and the Rise of Unchecked Capitalism in the Quirk Era? Does anyone understand what that means?"

"I wanted to join the Hero course at first," said Chikuchi, the girl with the low pigtails who briefly defended Kizuna's honor earlier, "but this is so fascinating I don't want to leave General anymore."

"I want to be a detective like Goro-sensei!"

"Right? I never thought someone Quirkless could be so cool!"

"I thought the public defender was interesting," said Mitsu, a girl with straight brown hair parted in the middle.

"Society isn't about heroes beating up villains, or vice versa," Rokue remarked, the girl with four smaller, additional eyes on her forehead, sitting over her normal eyes and glasses. "We live in a complicated world. If heroes are at the vanguards of peaceful society, then undoubtedly what we're learning will make us the backbone."

The class buzzed with agreement.

"Shinsou!" Ishizaki called. "The way you guessed that Goro-sensei was Quirkless was awesome!"

Shinsou leaned back in his chair, looking up. "…If you think about it, he was leaving clues for us during that whole spiel. Yokoyama was the first to catch on that something was weird."

Startled, Kizuna's eyes darted up from the doodles in her notebook.

"Yeah, Yokoyama! You were really cool!" chirped Kumoko, the girl with a cloud for a head. "And I _love_ your earrings! And your whole look! Scary, but super cute! It's… scute! Did I just make up a new word? I think I did!"

"Um." She looked back at her desk, fiddling with Yuuka's small hoops. "Thanks."

Agoyamato strode over, slicking back his pompadour. "Oi, Yokoyama. You're from a sidek—I mean, a hero family, right?" He winced, barely saving himself. She nodded. "Rad. Hey, did you bribe the principal to get in?"

"Yeah," Kizuna replied.

The entire class was stunned into silence.

Shit, her palms were sweating. "…That was a joke. I'm kidding."

Kumoko turned to Shinsou's desk. "…Brainwashing, huh! Can you brainwash me into being smarter?"

They laughed awkwardly, moving away from Kizuna's desk and going back to their conversations. Quite a few of them were gathered around Shinsou. He was sitting sideways in his chair, one arm resting over the back. She thought he had a fake sort of grin.

"Shinsou, your Quirk is awesome," Ishizaki declared. "You should've made it to the Hero track, man. I'm bummed for you."

He touched the back of his neck. "It's all good."

"All I can do is turn into a slightly-bigger-than-average rock," Ishizaki said cheerily. "Brainwashing is an awesome power."

"…Even for a hero?" Shinsou asked.

The outburst was instantaneous: "Huh? _Of course_!"

"It'd be effective against villains," Rokue said, pushing up her three pairs of glasses. "Lower collateral damage, I'm sure. Much better than a hero who knows nothing but to punch and cause destruction."

"I've heard of students making it into the Hero course from Gen or Support!" Mitsu said excitedly, tiny balls of light drifting out of her mouth as she spoke. "It's not common, but it happens. I'd say you have a pretty good shot."

Agoyamato whooped. "We got awesome Quirks in Gen this year! Those Hero guys better watch out!"

Her pencil tip moved across the page, trying to capture the gesture of Shinsou's relaxing posture, like he just let out a long, quiet exhale, surrounded by new friends. Then Kizuna realized what she was drawing and quickly scribbled it out.

As her classmates kept talking, she set her pencil down and cupped her chin in her hand, watching the trees sway outside the window.

* * *

"Momo? Yaoyorozu Momo?"

In the line of Lunch Rush's cafeteria, Kizuna spotted a spiky black ponytail. Momo turned at the sound of her name, looking at the girl with a loose tie and piercings bouncing up to her.

Her face went blank. "Sorry, who…?"

"Kizuna!" She pointed at herself with a laugh. "Yokoyama Kizuna!"

"Ki…_Kizuna-san_?" Her jaw dropped. "I didn't recognize you! You look… so different!"

She squished Momo's face, pulling her cheeks apart. "What do I always say about calling me by my name?"

"But—but—okay, Kizuna!" Bright pink, Momo pulled her wrists away. "Please, I'm trying to build a reputation here…"

She glanced around, as though making sure no one from her class saw that. The young Yaoyorozu must've had her growth spurt when Kizuna left Tokyo, because she always used to be the tiny girl who followed her around to show her the nesting dolls she made out of her skin. Now she was taller than Kizuna.

"I heard we're in the same year now," Momo said with a light, flustered laugh. "But still, this is going to get some getting used to."

She smiled back and asked, "How're your parents?"

"Quite well, thank you. Mother is terribly proud. I thought my chances of getting in as a recommended student were slim, but somehow I made it." Momo shook her head with a sigh. "Sheer luck."

"Please, you're selling yourself short." Internal Kizuna roared, _Damn you, Yaoyorozu Momo! You know there's none more capable than you!_

"Speaking of which, Todoroki Shouto is the other recommended student. Have you said hello yet?"

Kizuna scratched her check. "Not yet. Though we… met last summer. My grandparents were… well, now that I made it into UA, I think they'll stop shopping me around."

"Oh, I hate it when the old generation are so… _like that_. Just horrendous," Momo huffed, planting her hands on her hips. "If they give you too much grief, you can always stay at my abode. Though we only have five spare rooms now that Mother set up her personalized fitness center…"

"Wow, just five?" she said wryly.

"I know, I know. But we can certainly squeeze you in."

When they reached the front of the line, Kizuna took a tray of soba with extra ginger. She looked down at the beautiful spread of food, thinking about how much she missed Ekashi's deer stew. Momo invited her to sit with the other girls from 1-A. Kizuna made up some excuse of seeing students from 1-C waving her over.

"General Department, right?" Momo nodded at her, smiling. "Well done."

No 'are you okay' or 'what happened' or 'sorry about everything'.

Just _well done_.

"Thanks, Momo."

1-C's table was rambunctious, eagerly greeting kids from other Gen Studies classes as well as Support and Business. A mess of purple sat in the middle, though Shinsou looked like he was just trying to eat his food in peace as their classmates talked around him. Out of habit, Kizuna looked for an empty table so she could be with her own thoughts. But this was very difficult when every student in UA ate lunch at the same time.

There was a black-haired third-year sitting next to a tall blond guy with two dots for eyes. Kizuna wondered if he'd notice her.

Eyes halfway hidden by his bangs, Amajiki Tamaki pretended not to see her for the first couple of seconds she's staring. Then he shot her a frantic look, his way of saying hi, and turned back to his food with his head bent so low it threatened to fall into his bowl.

Fatgum _did_ say he still had a lot to work on…

Still, it was nice to see his face. His pale, sweaty, so-very-Tamaki-senpai face.

Kizuna found a table where a small group of girls were already eating at, and sat at the other end. She slipped on her headphones and discovered that Ekashi sent over ten photos of Wakka with a yellow flower tucked over his furry ear, messaging back, _Just saw your text. Here's an angel._

It was so nice Kizuna almost starts tearing up. Half a day down. Three more years to go.

As she ate, she heard something blowing up with a loud _DEKU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!_ right after it. Spiky blond hair sat at a table with other kids in the Hero course. Her nose wrinkled. She'd forgotten about him, but it figured he made it in with that powerful Quirk.

She turned the volume higher on her music.

When she was done eating, Kizuna kept her head down as she passed through the crowd and only looked up when she got the counter where they're to set their dirty dishes in.

The spiky blond tossed his tray down and turned. She halted, feet frozen to the ground.

Red eyes find her own. He looked bored.

She felt her wrist lift up—he was _holding_ it, like it's some kind of limp worm, inspecting with a curled lip. With his other raised hand, mini explosions crackled around his fingertips.

"Huh," he remarks. "You broken or somethin'?"

Then he tossed her wrist back down and strode out of the cafeteria, hands in his pockets.

She realized distantly that she'd dropped her tray, and the remains of the bowl had splashed across her skirt. Kizuna bent down to pick it up, her hand shaking a little. Her headphones slipped down and hang around her neck. Her heart thumped in her ears.

What just—_happened_? Why did she just stand _still_? Why didn't she _say anything_? Why did she…

_I let that happen. I let someone do something to me and I couldn't say no. Again._

A little boy stood next to her, pointing and laughing, "He made Igor cry!"

"Speak up!" shouted another. "He can't hear you!"

Kizuna dumped her dirty dishes on the counter and raced out of the cafeteria. She spotted spikes of yellow out in the hallway and her feet took off, her hand diving into her pocket and pulling out her switchblade. She had skinned rabbits before, carved the knife from the skull to the tailbone. She had scooped out the innards of a fresh dead bear, warm blood all over her hands. What do you do if you crossed paths with a hungry carnivore in the backcountry, in the forests where nobody else was around for miles and miles? Intimidation was also a survival tactic. _Don't fuck with me._

He jerked with a swear when she grabbed his arm, shoving him up against the wall, and—

* * *

There was one good thing about her whole life being torn apart.

When the angst was over, when the tears were cried through, she danced on the beach beneath the high sun. Headphones on, phone in her hand. Her shirt billowed around as she spun in her own world. Hands touched the sky. Sneakers splashed up drops of water as they danced along the wet, sandy shallows. The tide rolled in, just barely touching her feet, and swept back out again in lines of pearly foam.

She leaned backwards as far as she could, the sun gleaming behind her eyelids.

Annihilation gifted her a secret: nothing made sense and there were no rules.

_She was __free__._

* * *

…well, to a point.

* * *

"I didn't stab him."

"Hmm," Principal Nezu says.

"In my defense, there are people running around this school who could kill us all in a matter of minutes. How am I at fault for carrying a weapon when there's students who can throw ice, explode things, and make swords out of their own skin? You have dozens of weapons being engineered right now by Support."

The fragrance of tea wafted across the principal's desk. Through the office's ceiling-to-floor window, she had a sprawling view of the cityscape of Tokyo. Pale light fell over Nezu's small shoulders, fluffy ears, and his perpetually-smiling mouth.

"First of all," he said, "these students can only use their Quirks in a harmful manner under the supervision of a teacher. Second, Support weapons are always signed off with permission. Lastly, your switchblade wasn't used with explicit approval and you threatened another student with it. Or do you deny that?"

"…No."

"Was there anything Bakugou Katsuki did to provoke you?"

Kizuna learned the talking hemorrhoid had a name.

She sat on the opposite side of the principal's desk, bits of dried soba sauce on her skirt. She glanced over Nezu's head, where Yuuka was resting her elbows on the back of his chair.

"Be smart, _mataki_," Yuuka advised. "He'll know if you're lying too much. All lies need a sprinkle of truth to be believable."

Red eyes under a convenience store exit, shoulder hitting hers.

"No," Kizuna answered. "He just bumped into me and didn't apologize. I overreacted."

"I see." Principal Nezu observed her for a moment, then gestured at the teacup sitting on a china plate in front of her. "For now, why don't you try the tea? I brewed it myself, you know," he said meaningfully, taking another drink from his.

"…Oh. Okay. Um, in that case, excuse me…" She blew on her cup and sipped a little. Ah, how fragrant. She found herself relaxing.

Principal Nezu set down his tea and she hurriedly mimicked his actions, expecting the mood of the conversation to swerve back into seriousness. Her teacup clattered against the plate. He smiled as she apologized.

"I thought you wanted to attend UA, Yokoyama."

"I—I do! Because Yuuka came here—"

"This isn't for yourself," he cut in with a questioning tone, "but for your sister?"

"I just… want to make her proud."

"You smile when you talk about her."

She shifted in her seat, the subject of his observation flickering away

He steepled his paws, unbearably kind. "It must still hurt."

Kizuna couldn't look at him. Not because she was afraid of Nezu, but because she was afraid of what he thought he saw when he looked at her. She looked, instead, out the window. "I don't use Yuuka to justify my own poor behavior. It's disrespectful."

Nezu mulled over this interesting demonstration of self-awareness. "So many things are about love. Things you wouldn't even expect, and perhaps only realize when you look back."

Her gaze flicked to the principal, then again to the window. Chewing on her lip, Kizuna wondered why heroes can't ever be fucking mean. She'd like it so much more if Nezu just punched her in the face and called it day.

"Am I expelled?"

"Consider this a warning," Nezu said amicably. "If you want to challenge someone from the Hero course, do it with supervision. Or away from school grounds. No more threatening fellow students in the hallway, yes?"

Her chin dipped in a short nod. She mumbled into her chest, "Okay. Sorry."

* * *

1-C was already on edge before she came in, and it didn't help that Yokoyama slammed open the door and interrupted Cementoss in the middle of a lesson. Shinsou watched her plop down in her seat, arms crossed tight, either oblivious to the tension in the class or ice-water-in-the-veins indifferent to it.

During lunch, he noticed her standing in line with a girl he later sees sitting with Class 1-A. Naturally, he thought, she'd want to hang around the Hero kids. Everyone loves a healer. But then Yokoyama went off to sit alone and spent the whole time scrolling through her phone without talking to anyone.

He watched her and the loud guy from 1-A interact briefly, then her storming out of the cafeteria with a glare of pure venom.

Shinsou scratched his cheek and glanced over his shoulder, pretending he was checking the clock. Her arms were still crossed, notebook unopened in front of her, hair falling across one eye as she stared drearily out the window.

She didn't look like a healer, much less a hero.

* * *

At the end of school, Detective Goro came by to find Kizuna.

She stood in the hallway, her head bowed again, hands clasped in front of her.

He took a long drag of his candy cigarette and posed so the light from the hallway windows lit his face dramatically. "Alright, sister, I know the principal already chewed you out, but it's my turn to give you the mean-medicine. The lowdown. The real skinny. You might've skated by with your family name, your circumstances, or your Quirk in the past, but that won't work here."

"I'm sorry," Kizuna said, fighting back the urge to stubbornly fail out of UA just to demonstrate how she never used her family name, her circumstances, or her Quirks for anything other than petty spite.

"Alright," Goro said cheerily. "Swell!"

She looked up. "…What?"

"So long as you're sorry, I ain't busting my other leg to lecture you. Just keep the trouble off-campus, you hear?"

A quiet exhalation of relief escaped her. "I'll… um, try."

"You sure you're doin' okay?"

"What?" she said again.

He chewed on his candy cigarette. "Your case blew up the police department for a while. You went from Missing Persons to Trafficking to Homicide. No one had a damn clue what happened to you."

That was one thing they had in common with Kizuna. "Wow. Can't believe I'm still alive after all that."

He leaned on his cane. "Have you talked to anyone? Psychologists, therapists?"

"Of course." She fucking hated all of them. "Today was… just a little hiccup. It's nothing, sensei, really."

Goro studied her for another moment, then someone down the hall caught his eye. He waved. "Seems like we both got troublemakers this year, Eraserhead! But I reckon we should try to get along, Hero and General!"

The scruffy, unshaven man passing by merely said, "Sure."

_Eraserhead_… Kizuna had never heard of that hero before. She stared at the bandage-like scarf wrapped around his neck and the shaggy hair falling across his face. If Principal Nezu said they'd be watching her for Hero Potential, did that mean he was one of them?_ Wait, if Vlad King teaches 1-B, then that means this is the guy who…_

"This is the first year he didn't expel his entire class," Goro told her once the hero is out of earshot. "I wish I took a photo of Eraserhead's face when Nezu told us about your little tussle. His first year as a proper teacher and now he's gotta deal with all the troubles that come with it."

She had a sneaking suspicion her homeroom teacher was deeply amused that a Gen Studies kid messed with a Hero kid, instead of the other way around.

"Good talk, Yokoyama. I'll see you tomorrow." Goro reached for a tall stack of papers that he left on a table, scooping it up one-handed. The top of the pile slipped. He floundered against his cane. "Ah, applesauce—"

"I got it, sensei." Kizuna quickly gathered the papers back into a pile and set it in his free arm. Their hands brushed.

She activated Exalt, white lightning crackling through her fingertip.

…and felt nothing.

He really was Quirkless.

Goro thanked her and headed off to the faculty office. Kizuna rubbed her fingers together. He must've faced stigma his whole life, and she didn't want to dismiss that, but… it was comforting. He was someone she couldn't ever make stronger. Goro was the goofiest teacher she'd ever had, but she got the feeling he was also the most impressive.

Grinning to herself, Kizuna headed back into the classroom.

"—hilarious that she pulled a blade on a Hero guy."

"Won't be so funny when she pulls one on _us_."

"Hey, pipe down," Ishizaki said quickly, noticing the unsmiling girl standing at the door.

The class quieted so fast it couldn't be more obvious they'd been talking about her. Stone-faced, Kizuna returned to her seat, packed up her things, and left without a word.

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Kizuna nervously rubbed her mouth.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

For such a tiny, gentle-looking orb of a human being, Recovery Girl was _scary_.

She stopped tapping her small foot and said, "You're just a firecracker, aren't you?"

"Well… I'm on my period, and my tiny, feminine brain gets emotional when—"

"Oh, you little rascal!" the old woman/highly-acclaimed doctor gasped. "Don't give me that garbage!"

Kizuna smiled. She'd had a very long day, but the look of scandalized indignation on Recovery Girl's face made it a little better. (For the record, though the thought had occurred to her earlier, she'd never say it to Goro or Principal Nezu. They'd probably know it was a joke, but the risk was still too high.)

"First _that boy_, now this one," Recovery Girl muttered, a look of disapproval behind her pink visor. She waved at Kizuna. "I'll show you around the office. You'll come here after school every day. If there's no student who needs healing, you can either leave or study here. Do you understand?"

"Yes…"

"What was that, Kizuna-chan?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

_Absolutely shit first day_, she texted Yuuka later that night. _You ever experience one of those 'I'll stab a bitch for looking at me wrong' sort of moments? Don't worry, I didn't actually stab anyone. But now the rest of my class thinks I'm an axe murderer. So that's nice._

She rested her bare feet, toenails painted dark purple, against her desk where textbooks were open and laid out. She was snuggled in sweatpants and an oversized pink Tutari sweater, two faded red crosses on the upper sleeves. Her thumbs flashed across her phone's keyboard.

_I really do want to do well.  
But saying it is so much easier than it actually happening._

_Just looking at the enormity of things makes me want to give up. (But I won't, promise promise promise.)_

Kizuna sighed, glancing up at her ceiling. If she closed her eyes, she could see the glow-in-the-dark stars back in their tiny apartment.

_I'm less sad these days, I think. Compared to how I was._  
_I used to do nothing but watch old videos of you and pray I'd wake up from this nightmare._  
…_but then, not being as sad makes me sad.  
I don't want you to ever think I'm forgetting about you._

_I miss you forever._

_You know that, right?_

She sent the text off and sat back up, returning to her homework with a big gulp of hazelnut-sweetened coffee.

* * *

In the locker room, the girls of 1-C zipped up their dark blue tracksuits for P.E. class. They chattered amongst themselves, darting glances at the girl changing silently. A long scar stretched from between her clavicles, disappeared into her sports bra, and peeked out again at the top of her stomach.

Outside, she stood by herself while the teacher guided them through a warm-up stretch and then told them to line up at the track.

Bangs clipped back, eyes staring narrowly into the distance, Kizuna immediately led the pack. She lapped Shinsou, and his pace increased as he tried to catch up to her.

She used to hate running so much that in junior high, she'd sneak away to the bathroom to play games on her phone. There's something Fatgum called_ dynamic meditation_, and it was far easier to do now after a year of practice. Slipping into a zen mindspace, ignoring the pain in her body, thinking only of Hokkaido snow and skating on the icy river with Yuuka holding her hands and encouraging her clumsy, foal-like gait through muffled laughter.

She finished first in the class, running her fastest mile yet. Shinsou finishes twelfth out of twenty.

The class split off into groups, chatting with one another and stretching. Shinsou lifted up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his chin, glancing at the girl laying down in the grass. Her arms were spread over her head, white hair fanning around yellow dandelions, eyes closed like she was in the middle of dreaming.

* * *

"Come in, Kizuna-chan," Recovery Girl said when she paused at the door, noticing bright red sneakers. "Only the second day and we're already getting injuries."

On the infirmary bed, with his mossy-green hair and a tattered teal jumpsuit, Midoriya grinned sheepishly. His left arm was in a cast, and his right was banged up pretty bad. He looked like he'd just woke up. How long had he been out? It was already after school.

Recovery Girl was in the middle of bandaging his right arm. "Would you like to try healing your first student? Put your bag down and wash your hands."

Kizuna did, and sat on the chair Recovery Girl hopped down from. She spun around to face the freckly boy.

"What's crack-a-lackin', shorty?" Kizuna snapped her fingers and winked. "Hey, it's your arms."

Midoriya snorted so loudly he almost tore another ligament, and doubled over with a whimper he tried to disguise as a manly cough. Kizuna giggled. Then Recovery Girl whacked her on the leg. Whoops.

Kizuna rested her hands on Midoriya's upper arm and concentrated. Her hands glowed white, searching out the damaged tissue.

"What do you feel, Kizuna-chan?" Recovery Girl asked.

"Bruised deltoid, torn brachioradialis, multiple lacerations…"

The old woman nodded and motioned for her to continue.

As her hands lightly moved across his skin, Midoriya flinched. His cheeks were pink. "Sorry. It feels so… warm."

_My sister's Quirk is gentle, isn't it._ "Did you get hit by a car on your way to school or something?"

"No, no! Just a training exercise with my class."

As expected of the Hero course.

"This is amazing," Midoriya said in awe, watching the bruises disappear from his skin. "It's so different from Recovery Girl's Quirk. I'm not tired at all."

"My Quirk is the opposite of hers. She heals by letting you draw energy from your stamina. I heal using my own stamina. It's a drawback for me, but if you're ever in a pinch, I'd be pretty handy." Kizuna moved her hands down to his forearms, mending the scratches on there. "Sorry if this feels weird. My sister could heal this in two seconds. I'm still trying to catch up to her."

"Ah, no! I'm sorry for bothering you about this in the first place!" Midoriya said quickly, as though getting hurt was somehow his fault. "In any case, did you, uh… seriously pull a switchblade on Kacchan?"

"Kacchan?" Kizuna repeated blankly.

"Uh! I mean, Bakugou?"

"Ah…" She laughed slightly, feeling awkward. "Yeah, I just wanted to scare him a little."

His eyes went impossibly round. He gaped at her, shell-shocked, and mumbled in rapid, borderline incomprehensible speed, "Oh my god oh my god that's UA for you even kids in the General Department are on an entirely different level, haha wow wish I could've seen that—"

"Sorry." Kizuna bit her lip. "You're good friends with him, huh." He'd called him _Kacchan_ for god's sake.

That shook Midoriya out of his fugue state. "Friends," he laughed, then paused as he realized how his laugh sounded. "Yeah… we're… something like friends…"

"…Something like friends with that guy sounds painful."

One shoulder lifted up in a helpless shrug. "I'm also trying to catch up to him," he said, and his grin this time felt a little raw, though that could be because he accidentally moved his left arm and clenched up with a squeak.

Kizuna was still thinking about his reply when he thanked them both and left. She wasn't usually curious about… people, like, as a general rule, but there was something about those two boys that grabs her attention. Midoriya and Bakugou: kind and unpleasant; nervous and egotistical; polite and crass. Their differences were so vast and obvious that despite only having minimal interactions with them, even she could tell it's weird that they were friends.

Or 'something like friends'. Whatever that meant.

Recovery Girl motioned for her to keep sitting. "I need to tell you something about that boy, Kizuna-chan. Midoriya has a powerful Quirk, but it's dangerous. He'll be a regular appearance here in the nurse's office." She raised a finger in warning. "You must, under no circumstances, ever use Exalt on him."

Kizuna's eyebrows rose.

"We read the file on your Quirk. It's a great support ability, true, but can backfire terribly. Your synergistic power relies on the control of both you and the person you're supporting. Midoriya is still learning how to control his Quirk. If you ever use Exalt on him while he has his activated, it could kill him."

She imagined Midoriya Izuku snapping apart like broken lego toy, scattering into pieces.

Kizuna swallowed hard. "Okay. I'll remember that."

Recovery Girl nodded. "How well can you control Exalt?"

"Pretty well. Mostly." She hesitated. "When I feel overwhelmed, it sort of… flips on automatically. But that barely ever happens. I keep that shit locked tight."

The old woman didn't look amused.

"…sorry for saying shit, Recovery Girl…"

"Work on controlling your Quirks," she said, taking out the needle adorning her grey bun. "I'll add that to the list." She clicked the back of the needle and a pen tip popped out of the syringe.

Kizuna perked up. "There's a list? Of what?"

Recovery Girl scribbled on her prescription pad, then ripped out the top note. "You want to get into the Hero course, don't you?" She slapped the note in her young mentee's hands. "There you go."

1\. _Get stronger_.

2\. _Practice healing until you're as good as Yuuka._

3\. _Develop better control over your Quirks._

4\. _Pass all your classes._

5\. _DO NOT STAB ANYONE._

* * *

Kizuna taped Recovery Girl's note on her bedroom wall above her desk, so she could see it every day.

Next to number five, she added _(unless they try to stab you first)._

Downstairs, her grandparents were watching the evening news. She heard the low murmur on the way the bathroom. Reporters talking about bills heading to the House of Councillors, including a resolution on lowering homelessness. But that was interrupted with breaking news: All Might, teaching at UA!

The hero of heroes. Teaching at her school.

Last year, she threw snowballs at his face and told him to fuck off.

Kizuna tossed and turned all night, fretting over what to say if they bumped into each other again. Sleep finally claimed her in the twilight before dawn…

…and she woke up to her grandmother shaking her, an alarm ringing in her ears, and a profound sense of _Oh, Shit_.

It was too late to take the train.

Kizuna frantically tied her sneakers while hopping up and down to the garage. Inside were a bunch of Seki's old inventions scattered around. She whipped off a white cloth covering a slightly dusty vehicle, and ran it outside onto the asphalt as her grandmother tiredly rubbed her forehead.

"Bye, Gran!" she shouted, buckling her helmet.

A sky-blue Vespa buzzed down the street, merging into the morning city traffic. Thank god she got her moped license as soon as she turned sixteen.

When she neared UA, she slowed down and carefully maneuvered around the crush of news station vans and tv reporters.

"You there!" A reporter shoved a mic at her. "Can we get your thoughts on All Might?"

"Have you had a class with him yet?"

"If you take any photos of him during school, we'll buy them off you!"

It was so crowded that she couldn't safely drive her Vespa through. Kizuna swung her legs off the moped and took off her helmet, shaking wavy hair over her face. "The government's voting on a bill about homelessness that probably won't pass," she said sourly. "You wanna devote three inches to that instead of dumb hero gossip?"

After dropping off her Vespa by the bike racks, she headed to class. The lively conversation in the room died slightly with her entrance. She kept her eyes to the ground, making her way over to her seat.

"Morning, Yokoyama."

Sleepy indigo gazed back at Kizuna's stare. Shinsou was utterly indifferent to the sudden tension in the room.

Did she hear right? She was so uncertain that she didn't have time to return the greeting before Goro opened the class with a homeroom meeting.

"Time to choose a class president!" he announced, and all heads turns to Rokue.

"I may look triply studious considering my glasses and elocution," she said, six eyes blinking erratically like a bug, "however, I am notoriously lazy and as such, would make a terrible class president."

A loud snort came from the back of the class. Kizuna hastily covered it as a cough.

"Yokoyama?" Goro gestured at her. "What about you?"

"I'm already working at Recovery Girl's office. But if I wasn't, I… would still say no because it sounds troublesome. Sorry."

"Honesty may be regarded as a heroic value," Goro sighed, "but would it kill you to tell your teacher a damn white lie every so often?"

"Sensei!" Kumoko waved her hands in the air. "I'll do it! I'm great at getting my fellow classmates to behave because everyone says I'm way too friendly and really, _reaaaaally_ hard to say no to! Like, they can barely get the word in! Please pick me or I'll be soooo sad!"

Her cloudy head puffed up eagerly. Goro couldn't seem to say a word in response.

Kumoko was chosen as class president.

Meanwhile, 1-C wondered if they were going to be okay.

* * *

"Today, we're going to meet the Support Department!" Goro said as they passed through the high metal doors of the workshop. "Many Support and Business students start companies together once they graduate. When we learn more about Support equipment laws, we'll be back in here. Pay attention, you might end up working for one of those companies someday!"

"Be careful what you touch and where you step," Power Loader said through his large yellow helmet as he shuffled between scrap metal. "We won't be held accountable if you guys lose two or three fingers."

Class 1-C shivered.

The workshop was filled to the brim with gadgets and the air was muggy with sawdust.

Kizuna was too glum to join the rest of her class in talking to the Support freshmen. She didn't particularly care about being the class pariah, but… it still kind of sucked. It turned out, even if you were used to be alone, even if you _prefer it_, you could still feel lonely. Wasn't that just the worst?

Everything on the tables looked too important to disturb. Power drills, computers, wires, half-finished tech… She spotted a metal baseball bat lying against a table and picked it up for fun, swinging it lightly.

"Hey! Hey! That's my baby!"

Salmon-pink hair popped out of the mini junkyard. A petite girl clambered out, pulling chunky goggles up over her head. She strode up to Kizuna in a baggy black jumpsuit instead of the normal UA uniform. Her pupils were shaped like crosses, or scope lenses.

She took the bat out of Kizuna's hands and held it up to the light. "I call her… Metal Bat. Ultra-durable. Stainless steel. Aerodynamic. Should I add a rocket launcher to it or turn it into a blowtorch?" She stared at the bat for a fierce moment. "Actually, I hate this. Total reject! What was I thinking!? Toss it in the trash heap!"

She spun to Kizuna, who jerked back in mild alarm. Her smile was so intense it's borderline manic.

"What's your Quirk!? Is it fun!? You need any Support tools!?"

"No…" Kizuna said slowly, staring at her, "and I'm not a hero."

"Oh, what a shame." The girl walked away, completely disregarding her.

"Yokoyama! Over here!" Goro called. He was waving her over to the other side of the workshop where the class was gathered.

But Kizuna couldn't take one step before the pink-haired Support girl leaped into her path, arms flailing. "Yokoyama? _Yokoyama_? Like Yokoyama Seki?"

"Uh—yeah, that's my cousin."

Her entire body started rattling like she was about to vibrate straight into the ceiling out of sheer excitement. "Hatsume Mei!" She aggressively shook Kizuna's hand. "Nice to meet you! Now that we're friends, you'll bring me some of her old inventions, won't you?"

"Um—"

The shorter girl pulled Kizuna down to her eye level. "_I want to devour them_."

It took ten minutes to dislodge herself from Hatsume Mei, who—despite all the fearsome students Kizuna had encountered—was by far the scariest.

* * *

Since the start of school, Kizuna ate alone at lunch every day, one leg tucked underneath her and listening to music.

But today something different happened: a tray clattered down and a hand pulled out a chair.

Kizuna paused the current song as Shinsou sat across from her with his bowl of curry rice. She took off her headphones, staring at him.

"It's rowdy over at the usual table." He nodded slightly in 1-C's direction.

"Okay," Kizuna said.

She busied herself with eating, speculating why Shinsou was being so normal around her. Maybe he was sitting with her because he thought she was as quiet as him. She wondered how that hair defies gravity. It was so tempting to poke it.

"You're pretty fast," Shinsou said around a piece of carrot.

"…Thanks." She chewed on a piece of ginger. "I… pretend I'm being chased by a horde of zombies."

"That's your secret?"

"No one can tell the tears from my sweat while I run."

Shinsou ate with his elbows resting on the table and feet planted on the ground. Straightforward, direct. On the other hand, Kizuna was hunched over, her legs crossed in her chair, fidgeting with her piercings and her messy hair.

"What do you think of Goro-sensei?" he asked, continuing the conversation that she's sure anyone else would've already left.

"I've… never had a teacher like him before. I'm glad we have him as a homeroom teacher. I'm glad UA doesn't let just anybody teach, you know? Even for Gen Studies. You meet people in life, and some of them just… _get it_. Like, they just get the meaning of life, or whatever. Goro-sensei seems like he's one of them." Kizuna paused. "Or he could turn out to be a crazy pumpkin-fucker who eats his own toenails. I don't know. It's probably not good to idolize people. Whatever. What do you think of him?"

Her sharp pink eyes met his own.

Shinsou Hitoshi thought he knew three objective facts about the switchblade-wielding girl in his class. One, she didn't talk much. Two, she was an athlete who takes training seriously. Three, despite all evidence to the contrary, she was probably, mostly normal.

But he was wrong on all accounts.

Yet he couldn't help but admire how she spoke up that first day in class, her voice ringing across the classroom as she proclaimed_, I don't think it's wrong to want to be more than our Quirks._

Shinsou grinned slightly.

_VREEEE_—

Kizuna flinched so hard she spills soy sauce on herself.

"SECURITY LEVEL THREE HAS BEEN BROKEN," blared the alarm system. Lights at the cafeteria exits started flashing red. "ALL STUDENTS, PLEASE EVACUATE IN AN ORDERLY FASHION."

Students abandoned their food en masse to race for the exits, shouting and pushing each other, as the alarm continues to beg _orderly fashion, please_. It was a tsunami wave of grey jackets. No way was she swimming through that. Kizuna calmly wiped off the soy sauce and resumed eating.

"That doesn't sound good," Shinsou remarked.

"Mm," Kizuna agreed, not getting up.

He stood. "There's a back exit right over there. Let's head out."

"I'm still eating."

"It looks like it could be serious."

"If I die, I'm dying with a full stomach." She slipped on her headphones, shooing him away.

A disbelieving crease appeared between his brows.

She stole a bit of curry chicken from his plate, stubbornly ignoring him, even as he walked around to her side of the table.

Shinsou lifted up the headphones and murmured in her ear, "You have a proper Quirk for a hero. It's just your personality that's shitty."

Outraged, Kizuna slamed her palms down. "You got a fucking mouth on y—"

"_Put your chopsticks down and follow me_."

Okay. That sounded sensible. She did that.

Kizuna blinked awake in the classroom of 1-C, with a new understanding of Shinsou's Brainwashing Quirk. What a totally devious and shady way of possibly saving her life.

"You are a _rude bastard_," she told him.

"You swear a lot for a healer," he replied.

She could only gape, feeling called the fuck out. Then her eyes crinkled in amusement at his candor, her mouth tilting up.

Their classmates were talking loudly about the alarm and (apparently) the reporters who broke through the UA barriers. A few of them called over Shinsou, but faltered when they saw her right next to him.

Oh.

That's right.

"Hey," she said in an undertone. "You're better off not talking to me."

"Yeah, so," Shinsou said, rubbing his neck, "I don't do the whole 'don't talk to me out of your own good' bullshit."

Some girls in the corner were whispering. Kizuna didn't even know if it was about her, but deep, deep in her gut, she _did _know. She knew she was going to infect him with her awfulness in some way or another.

"You _would_ make a great hero, Shinsou," she said quietly, and stepped forward. His eyes twitched at her sudden proximity. "But I bet you'd make a better villain. How's that for leave me alone?"

She strode to her desk in the back corner, not even daring to look back.

Yuuka rested her back against the window. "Why do you always ruin everything?" she sighed.

_I don't know how to do anything else_, Kizuna thought, staring at her hands.

* * *

"All Might's off today?"

Recovery Girl nodded. "Those reporters tried to break in all for nothing."

Sweet relief. Now she didn't have to worry about bumping into him. (Yet.)

Under the youthful heroine's watchful eye, Kizuna healed light injuries from the post-Lunch Rush mess. When the last student left the nurse's office, Recovery Girl told her she's free to head home.

She rolled her Vespa out of the bike rack area, munching on a chocolate chip cookie to curb her post-healing hunger. There were still police surrounding the area with their squad cars. And, more unusually, UA teachers were walking around on the school grounds. As if they were on the watch for something.

"Yokoyama!"

A square in the shape of a boy waved.

* * *

Iida rearranged his windblown hair as they sat down with their food at a booth in the diner. "Midoriya mentioned you're working in Recovery Girl's office."

"Mm-hm." She dipped her fries in ketchup. "He's in 1-A with you, right? He's pretty good at hurting himself."

Iida launched on a lengthy analysis of his new green-haired friend, who he initially thought was another kid out of his depth but actually has an impressive Quirk, remarkable instincts, and embodies the true dignity of a hero-in-training. Her blue Vespa was parked on the curb outside. Iida had refused to get on without a helmet, so she told him she'd only give it if he climbed on first. Then she took off down the street as he shouted, "YOU TRICKED MEEEE!"

He finished his thoughts on his Hero course classmates and chewed contemplatively on his sandwich.

"In any case, you're a healer now," Iida sayed, his sharp eyebrows raised quizzically. "Does that mean you have… _two_ Quirks?"

She said through a mouthful of fries, "Does it matter?"

"I thought it was impossible to develop another Quirk. It's exactly like your sister's. Your hair, too…"

Kizuna shrugged. "Grief is strange." She'd let him try to decipher that. She lazily rested a hand over Iida's. "And healers are rare. This is the only Quirk I want to use from now on."

The scratches on his knuckles glowed white and mended itself.

"It sounds… difficult to talk about." His hand folded around hers. "But I'm here, if you ever want to."

He had nice hands. Big, warm. Gentle.

He had done this, too, at Yuuka's wake. Iida Tenya, with Tensei right behind him, had reached forward and clasped her hand between his. The verbose boy had said absolutely nothing, and just held her, his eyes all squinty and bright like he was about to cry but trying desperately to hold it in for her sake. And for a moment, it felt like things might start being okay. For a moment.

"You wouldn't understand, Tenya-kun." Kizuna curled a strand of white around her finger and pressed it to her mouth, eyes languid. "You still have a brother."

His hand twitched.

He moved it away and rested his fists on the table, eyebrows furrowed together in helplessness.

Kizuna laughed. "I'm kidding!"

She was not kidding.

"It's a joke, a joke," she teased, rolling her eyes like it was sooo obvious. Iida stared at her, the look on his face even more pained.

She was an abyss of misery, a nasty tar pit that'll corrupt anyone that comes near her. Watch out.

"Tell me more about 1-A," Kizuna invited. "Did you guys have class president elections, too?"

He cleared his throat, his troubled expression clearing slightly. "Ah, yes. Yaoyorozu and I were elected. Actually, Midoriya was voted as president, but he gallantly gave the spot to me. You see, during the chaos of today's lunch, he saw me calm down the masses rushing for the exit and…"

She munched on her fries, listening as he talked and gestured exuberantly with his hands.

"Speaking of my class," Iida remembered, slamming the brakes on the conversation, "you didn't really try to attack Bakugou with a switchblade, did you?"

"_Somo, somo_, nothing like that happened."

"Are you lying, Yokoyama?"

"…Maybe."

"That alarms me greatly," he said with a look of shocked disappointment. It was so funny that she almost snorted up soda.

"Come on, you don't really think that guy's gonna make it, do you?" Kizuna leaned back, kicking her sneakers up on the table with a grin. She looked sinister, her pink eyes glinting darkly. "We know how the business works, Tenya-kun. Rotten apples either get expelled from UA or go rogue. There's no way that unpleasant shithead can be a hero."

(Said an unpleasant shithead.)

"I won't try to defend Bakugou," Iida replied with a terse sigh, "but you don't have to go that far. Also, this is not a shoes-on-table establishment."

She rolled her eyes, lowering her legs back to the ground. They were two scions of their respective Pro Hero families, though anyone watching would just see a bespectacled boy and a girl with too many piercings argue about the ideal crunchiness of fries.

* * *

No one in 1-C talked to her anymore.

She asked for this, in a way. She wanted to have an easy three years at UA. Everything is easy when nobody bothers you.

_Good morning, Shinsou_, Kizuna thought as he passes by.

_Good morning, Kumoko_, she thought as the cloudy girl sits next to her.

_Good morning, good morning_, she thought, keeping her head down as she doodles the group of classmates talking in front of her.

Her pencil began drawing another face in the group, standing next to the tall boy with tired eyes. A girl with short, messy hair that touched her chin, foxlike eyes, a uniform with a loose tie…

Kizuna looked at it for a moment.

She turned the pencil over and erased herself.

* * *

At lunch, she finally found an empty table to eat at. Kizuna put on her headphones and dug into her omurice.

The cafeteria buzzed with voices and conversation.

All the other cramped tables seemed tiny, barely visible.

Her empty table had the span of an ocean.

* * *

After school, she headed back to 1-C to pick up a textbook she forgot at her seat. Inside, a few girls were huddled around Kumoko. Shinsou, Ishizaki and Agoyamato were urgently talking to each other. Most of the class was gone, and everyone here was already packed. She wondered why they hadn't left yet.

"What happened?" Kizuna asked quietly, glancing at Kumoko, who was clearly crying. Rain dripped from her cloud-head, forming a puddle at her feet. The other girls were trying to console her as she sobbed.

"There are photographers outside," Chikuchi said, her dark eyes narrowed. "Be careful when you head out. They're taking pictures of all the girls."

"They wouldn't stop shouting at Kumoko," Mitsu said furiously. "Those assholes were told to stay off the campus."

"Someone get a kid from Hero to talk to the news reporters!" Ishizaki called.

"I'm going to find a teacher," Shinsou said.

"Haven't most of them left for the day?" Chikuchi retorted.

"Look at those Hero kids," Agoyamato grunted, peering out the window, "just walking through like they're already used to getting their photos taken and signin' autographs. They don't find this troubling at all, do they?"

Kizuna opened a window and leaned out, squinting. "Hey, were those camera guys wearing any credentials? Badges around their necks?"

The girls were so upset that they seemed to forget they're afraid of her. "No, we didn't see any."

Yuuka crosses her arms, leaning against the window. "They're not reporters. They're just creeps."

Kizuna looked over at Kumoko, whose cloud was dissolving under the weight of her rain. Rokue and Chikuchi were mopping up the water with tissue paper. She could leave. Pretend she never saw any of this. She wasn't a hero. Then she looked at her big sister.

"There's a path to glory right in front of you," Yuuka said. "You just have to reach out and grab it."

_That's not what a healer does._ They were in the background. They support. Everyone was already scared of her. She should save the real heroics for someone else.

"Sure." Yuuka nudged her shoulder. "But you're not a hero. You're just you. Angry girls bite back, don't they?"

Kizuna braced her fist against the window. She spun on her heel.

She ran to the Support Department workshop, pounded the door until a passing Support student let her in, grabbed Hatsume Mei's metal bat from her trash heap of failed inventions, then headed out of UA. She straightened her tie and brushed her hair over her ears so it covers her piercings.

In 1-C, Agoyamato was the first to spot the girl striding across the school grounds and waved over the rest of them to the windows.

"Isn't that…"

"You don't think she's gonna…"

"_Is that a bat_!?"

Her classmates' jaws went slack in horror. Heads stuck out of the windows, arms waving, shouting for her to stop. Shinsou dug his palms into the windowsill, staring out. She moved faster than him. Again.

Past the UA barriers and technically off school grounds, two photographers were lounging around with heavy, professional cameras. One guy perked up and nudged the other, and they grinned at the willowy girl walking up to them. Pink eyes, long legs covered in black tights. A pretty thing.

"Miss! Mind if we take a photo? We love UA students!"

"Can you leave?" she responded, casually holding the baseball bat behind her. "You're bothering my school."

"We're scouting for fresh young hero faces for our modeling company. With your looks, you could be an instant star. I bet you already have a big social media following, right? We could help promote you."

"What do you say?" One of the men winked at her. "You want us to make you famous?"

_Bitch_, Kizuna thought. She tilted her hips, eyes fluttering. "Really? Geez, this is so embarrassing. I don't know, I don't want my classmates to see and get jealous. Can we go back to your car?"

They quickly brought her around to a car parked on the street. It was actually a pretty nice model, which only added fuel to the fire. They must make good money from hawking photos of unsuspecting high school girls. She didn't see a dashcam or other recording devices on the car.

Now, obviously, Kizuna didn't want to get expelled. She just needed a good reason.

As if on cue, one of them said, "You wanna… get inside? We'll drive you to our studio."

Kizuna tilted her head. Attempting to coerce an already traumatized teenager? "I can work with that."

They grinned at each other and turned to open the door. She dropped the smile and swung the metal bat over her shoulder, gripping it in both hands, and brought it down with a _SLAM_ against the hood of the car. Batter up, Igor.

The car dented. There wasn't a scratch on the bat. Hatsume Mei's craftsmanship was excellent.

She flipped the bat around her wrist again. With a casual _THWACK_, a headlight was crushed.

As the men screamed out a string of obscenities and raced over to grab her, Kizuna leaped on the hood of the car. Her sneakers ground into the metal. In two, three, four hits—the bat smashed through the windshield. Glass shattered everywhere. The schoolgirl samurai held a katana over her head. _BANG._

Hands grabbed her ankle. Kizuna snarled at them, kicking.

"Is that your car!?" shouted a new voice.

"Of course this is my fucking—"

"_Give me your cameras._"

Kizuna turned, panting. The two guys obediently slid down and handed over their cameras to Shinsou, who was standing on the sidewalk, out of breath like he just raced across school. He whistled over his shoulder. The rest of Class 1-C, watching from a safe distance away, ran forward and got to work taking the film out of the cameras.

The men blinked in shock as Shinsou deactivated his Quirk.

"Do you feel brave harassing girls?" he asked flatly, looking pissed as hell. "Don't ever come back to UA."

They looked around at the other angry students, realizing they're outmatched. As they dived into their beat-up car, Kizuna was still in the middle of shattering the rest of the windows.

"Hey, idiot!" Shinsou shouted.

"Fuck you, don't—"

"_Get over here._"

Her eyes blanked. She obeyed, walking over to him on the sidewalk. As the car screeched away, Shinsou lifted his Quirk. Kizuna inhaled, rounding on the guy always getting in her way—

"Cool down, slugger," he said. "You could've hurt yourself."

"I don't care," she snapped, then hissed malevolently under her breath, "If I still had my switchblade, I could've slashed one of their tires…"

"That was ballsy, Yokoyama!" Agoyamato shouted. "You beat me to the punch! I was right behind you!"

"By right behind, he means the last one to leave the classroom," Chikuchi added, and he fumed at her. Ishizaki and Mitsu came back with brooms to sweep up the broken glass.

"Oh my god, we are definitely getting in trouble for this."

"No, no, not us. Just Shinsou and Yokoyama."

The two of them glanced at each other. Shinsou looked noticeably paler.

"If you get arrested, I'll break you out of jail," Kizuna assured him. The purple-haired boy did not seem to appreciate her joke.

"Why did you do that, Yokoyama?" Kumoko whispered. "That was, like, _so_ dangerous."

Kizuna shrugged. "They made you cry." She paused, her cheeks turning faintly pink. "And whatever, they were pestering me too. I don't want those creeps around our campus," she muttered with a scowl, scratching her short, messy hair.

The girls of 1-C beamed, feeling a collective arrow piercing through their hearts.

Kumoko's cloud was puffy and bright again. "First week at UA!" she sang, taking selfies. Just behind her, Kizuna tripped over a camera and Shinsou grabbed her before she could fall into a pile of glass.

She caught her balance against him. He let her.

Kizuna shut her eyes very, very tight.

"I'm sorry," she said, opening her eyes to look at him fully, "about saying you'd make a better villain. It was a terrible thing to say. I honestly think you should've made it into the Hero track, Shinsou. I think you'd make a really great hero. Can you forgive me?"

Her plainspoken, earnest apology seemed to catch him off guard.

"And you totally just made my heart skip a beat," Kizuna added.

"Bad joke."

"I'm always sincere." She laughed, leaning one-handed on the bat. "Promise."

"You missed one," came a voice behind them. "And you're blocking the path."

Surprised, Kizuna caught the camera film tossed at her. She stepped aside for Todoroki Shouto. All Hail Prince Frost.

He'd grown even taller than the last time she saw him. The other 1-C students cleared a path for him, sensing he wasn't someone to be messed with. Without stopping, Todoroki threw her an indecipherable blue glance over his shoulder.

Kizuna watched the shape of his back vanish under the swaying shadows of the sidewalk trees. She ran her fingers through white tangles, wondering, not for the first time, if it reminded him of anyone.

"He's got a mean face, Endeavor's kid."

She glanced at Shinsou and his brooding expression. _You would know_, she thought.

He added, "Must be nice being a natural-born hero."

Kizuna rested the bat over her shoulder. "Nah," she said decisively, grinning at him, "they're boring. I think you're much more fun."

She was sure that flattered him, because he couldn't seem to make eye contact.

A breeze whispered through the street, rustling through tiny pieces of shattered glass. Sunlight winked on the broken shards.

With colossal effort, Kizuna reached over and patted him on the arm, the cotton of his shirt soft underneath her hand. "Hey, Shinsou," she said through the knot in her throat, "can we… like, be on the same team in the zombie apocalypse?"

Shinsou looked down at her hand on his arm, then back at her slightly nervous gaze. He seemed to realize she was asking, _Can we be friends?_

He touched the back of his neck. "You're a dork, huh."

It wasn't an outright yes.

…But they can work on it.

"Whoa! Kizu, your eyes do the thing!" Kumoko held up her phone, pointing at the selfie. "Look at the thingy! Right next to Shin-chan!"

Behind Kumoko's shoulder, Kizuna was caught in mid-motion as she tripped, Shinsou grabbing her arm to keep her from falling into broken glass. Her eyes were two pinpricks of light in the flash of the camera.

"K…Kizu!?" Kizuna squeaked, her small pupils going wide and almost swallowing her pink irises whole.

Shinsou grimaced, covering his mouth. "Shin-chan…"

Class 1-C came to the unanimous conclusion that Shinsou Hitoshi, despite a rather villainous Quirk, had a kind and decent heart; meanwhile, Yokoyama Kizuna, despite a kind and decent Quirk, had a terribly nasty streak that could strike you dead if you weren't careful.

But deep, deep down: she could be surprisingly sweet.

* * *

Entering a konbini, Kizuna sent Shinsou a friend request on LINE then flipped through the news on her phone. The bill to fund more homeless shelters in the city didn't pass. On the plus side, a famous celebrity just released a new line of diet pills.

The world was going to hell, but what else was new.

The store was crowded with students heading home from school. Headphones on, Kizuna tapped along to the beat as she prowled the snack aisle. She was in a great mood. Kumoko hugged her tight and her classmates even said bye to her as she drove off. A suffocating weight on her chest had been lifted.

She looked over the pocky, her fingers itching. She should pay for it. She wasn't strapped for cash. She had her dad's life insurance money, and Yuuka's.

But on the other hand, it was just one _thing_ and _things__didn't_ really mean anything. Money, value, commodities, it was all bullshit. Societal rules? Just fucking words. Pointless airflow.

She casually leaned against a shelf of pocky. Greasy fingers. Slip of the wrist. No one saw anything.

No one but a spiky-haired blond boy looking to buy a snack on his way home.

Whistling, Kizuna headed back to the Vespa she parked around the corner. She was about to clamber on when someone ripped her headphones off her head. They fell around her neck, blasting music.

She glared at a face that was beginning to remind her of the aftermaths of undercooked chicken in a toilet. She had successfully avoided him the past couple of days, which was easy enough since they had classes on different floors.

But now they're outside of UA, and Bakugou glared back, looking positively hellish.

"You again?" she spat. "What do you w—"

He grabbed the edge of her jacket sleeve and shoves it up. A stolen box of strawberry pocky slipped out and fell into his hand.

Ah.

…Okay.

"Scumfuck to scumfuck," Kizuna snapped, "you got no right to judge me."

"That's a fine fucking way of admitting you're a petty shoplifter! Get your ass outta UA!"

…Oh.

Bakugou Katsuki _saw her_.

"You first," she challenged. "Even the other departments have heard of you. We know you're a jerk and a bully. You don't belong in UA, either."

He leaned forward and she was forced to back up until her legs hit the side of her Vespa.

"You don't know shit," he snapped back, his face inches from hers. A vein in his neck throbbed. Blood-eyed demon. _Iwendep_.

Her lips trembled, on the cusp of smiling.

She wondered if he was gonna punch her lights out. If he was gonna break her nose and stomp on her face. She smiled more at the thought. Of course, this asshole would barely blink at the thought of beating the shit out of a girl. Maybe he'd give her a scar just like Yuuka's. Delighted terror crawled up her spine.

_Oh, you'll never be a hero_, Kizuna thought viciously. _You're just like me._

"Stop smiling, foxface—"

"I'll use my Quirk for you," she breathed, and his narrow red gaze flinched wide. "I'll make you stronger. Then we'll call it even."

His fist shoot forward, grabbing the front of her shirt. She winced slightly, unable to hold back a shudder. Then she thought, _Nice. That's what I deserve_.

She grasped his wrist in her hands, black nails scratching against the skin, and activated Exalt. _There it is._ She felt it again, right over his heartbeat. Exactly like the day of the entrance exams. That hateful arrogance, the dizzying, sickening storm to _win, win, win at all costs_—

"Like hell I'd ask for your bullshit version of help." Bakugou's voice was a normal, almost quiet volume. She had no idea he could reach those decibels. Kizuna smirked, beginning to formulate a reply.

—but something was different.

"A real hero doesn't need a cheat to win."

…calmer.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

He didn't move. Didn't even try to hit her. In his eyes, she was less than the dirt on his shoes.

Bakugou Katsuki was not like her at all.

"…Are you going to rat me out?"

"I fucking should," Bakugou replied, pointblank. "But I don't care enough about a damn extra."

"Miss?" an alarmed man shouted, running at them. "Miss, is that scary guy bothering you?"

He dropped his grip, rounding on the unwitting stranger. "The hell did you say!?"

Moving as fast she can, Kizuna lurched on her Vespa and jerked the throttle, accelerating down the street.

In the rear-view mirrors, spiky blond hair disappeared.

She drove and drove and drove.

She slowed down at a red light, heart hammering in her ears. Housewives carrying groceries, schoolchildren, and bicyclists passed by her. Skyscrapers rose around her, hunks of metal and glass and countless ordinary people carrying on with life. In the distance, heroes flew around on patrol. None of them saw her like how that exploding pile of shit saw her.

There were no excuses for her behavior. Being caught means _easily _being expelled from UA.

Why did she still do it?

Kizuna thought back to every time she shoplifted something. Maybe she'd always been waiting for someone to spit in her face. She wanted the opposite of tenderness. She wanted to get what she deserved. (Mostly, she wanted to be seven again, standing on the tiniest dirt pile in all of Japan and believing without a doubt she was going to be a hero.)

A breathless, shaky laugh escaped her, muffled into the sleeve of her jacket.

She understood a little more of herself now. The depths of her garbageness continued to astound her.

It came over her like a wave, again. A wave of bleakness and exhaustion that she'd been running from for two and a half years. Kizuna inhaled deeply, gripping the handlebars. She knew, without having to look, that there was a shadow sitting right behind her, carrying a scythe with her number on it and her dead heart.

The goddamn light was still red. Her grip tightened. She watched the cars blur pass.

Not that she would, but it would be so easy.

Not that she would, but she considered between a small car or a big one. On one hand, light-to-medium injuries, hospital, get to miss school. On the other, death. Both had its merits.

She revved the engine without taking her hand off the brake handle. Full ignition, brakes squealing, crash, thud, bones snap, over in a heartbeat.

Not that she would, but—

Yuuka stood in the middle of the crosswalk, smiling gently, beckoning her over.

Kizuna stared down the cars driving past. It would be so easy.

Her phone buzzed.

It was still gripped in her sweaty hand, awkwardly clenched around the handlebar. Her glassy gaze flickered down at the notification lighting up her screen. It appeared over her lock screen, a photo of Yuuka posing beside a snowlady they once made in Hokkaido.

Her eyes refocused.

_[Shinsou Hitoshi accepted your friend request on LINE!]_

A bucket of ice-water, straight to the face.

She had to let go of the bars to open the app. The engine stopped revving.

She stared for a moment at the empty chat message they're now both connected to, then sent over an ugly sticker of a cat waving hello.

Not ten seconds later, Shinsou replied with an even uglier sticker of a cat drinking a cup of coffee.

She smiled slowly at first.

Then, all at once.

The light turned green. As the cars and bikes around her started moving, so did Kizuna.

.

.

.

_am i to be cursed forever with becoming  
somebody else on the way to myself?_

audre lorde

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**notes.** kizuna's got a lot of… emotional _density _right off the bat, and i kinda wasn't expecting that until i started thinking of how she'd react to things because her life is so complex. i also want her to have a genuine sense of humor, because there's something about tragedy makes everything seem a little ridiculous afterwards. as dark as this fic might get, i still want to keep it funny and entertaining.

anyway, this is how kizuna ended up as a weird mix of maturity and childishness, insecurity and shamelessness, wanting to be like her sister and wanting to be punished for not being like her sister. (tbh when anaïs nin said, "we do not grow absolutely, chronologically. we grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. we grow partially. we are relative.")

and i hope hope hope i give 1-C the love they deserve! i feel like their classes would be really interesting and focus more on the 'quirk worldbuilding' side of things. and they deserve their own quirky teacher, too. (hoho.)

for anyone curious, the song i imagine playing during the beach dance flashback and at the end scene when bakugou confronts her is ヒーローにはなれないけど (i could never be a hero) by kinoko teikoku! oh man their interactions are gonna be so fun to write. because objectively bakugou is trash aaaand kizuna is kinda trash. but they're recyclable trash, maybe.

glossary

ainu

_ekashi_: grandfather  
_wakka_: water  
_mataki_: little sister  
_somo_: no  
_iwendep_: demon

japanese

_detective goro_; named after kogoro akechi in edogawa ranpo's famous detective series; quirkless  
_mitsu_: a pronunciation of 光, light; that sassy girl who sometimes appears with shinsou when he's around gen studies; she can exhale tiny balls of lights  
_ishizaki_: 石崎, stone peninsula; brown hair with heavy chin; he can turn into a slightly-larger-than-average rock  
_rokue_: 六也, kanji for six; girl with six eyes and bug antennae  
kumoko: 雲子, cloud and girl; her head is always in the clouds because it is a cloud; class president

misc

_kizuna's height_: 5'6.5/169 cm  
_tapetum lucidum_: kizuna's family on her mother's side have this mutation, along with protruding canines and eyes with small round pupils that can dilate really, really big


	3. this is not a drill

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**I CARRY YOUR HEART**

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

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**Kizuna** (7:24 pm)

_pretty sure i'm sitting in your seat in 1-C.  
__(don't correct me if i'm wrong, which i'm not)_

_also, i think i made friends. friends!  
i'll update you when they get tired of me.  
(counting down the hours, ha)_

_living is hard, sapo. you had to leave to become a star, but you should've taken me along._

_anyway! look at the pancakes i made! cuuuuute, right?_

[photo attached]

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Though she didn't ask them to defend her, 1-C agreed that the loud, quarrelsome Bakugou of 1-A must have messed with her first, and the attempted mutilation-by-switchblade must've been deserved. After all, kids without strong Quirks had to level the playing field somehow, and Gen Studies was always going to be biased toward the scrappy underdog. Even if she was sort of… feral and mean-looking.

And today, when faced with their ever-smiling principal standing atop Goro-sensei's head, 1-C unanimously agreed snitches got stitches.

"Shinsou Hitoshi," Principal Nezu said, "you used your Quirk on those troublemakers."

"I had reason to believe they were going to attack me," replied Shinsou. "Because we weren't on school property, under legal jurisdiction of Musutafu, I have the right to defend myself in a life-threatening situation."

In the back of the class, a girl in a perpetually disheveled uniform gripped her hands together, a trembling convulsion like she was reliving the horrors of a terrible afternoon—when she was really biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. Life-threatening? Shinsou's pokerface was godly.

In fact, this was exactly what Goro coached Shinsou to say as soon as he heard about the ruckus his class had made. At the present moment, their homeroom teacher was giving the impression that he just heard Shinsou's answer for the first time, shaking his head with a disbelieving _hmmmm_.

"I _suppose_ you're not wrong," Goro said, painfully stressing the word as though he was still not convinced. "The law _does_ have certain exceptions."

Then he rose his eyebrows, silently motioning for his students to start milking the crap out of this.

"Kizu didn't do nothin', Principal!" Kumoko's cloud was fuming.

"Those creepy photographers started it."

"Yokoyama didn't even touch them."

"They were obviously trying to get her into their car. We all saw it."

"If you punish a girl for defending herself, what message are you giving us?" Chikuchi shook her fist. "_Hm_?"

The class immediately began clamoring and war-shouting. Goro made a quick slashing moment over his throat as though to say, _Alright, cool down._

"Rest assured, they won't be bothering UA anymore," Nezu announced, waving his paws. "What an exuberant bunch, Goro! You'll have your paws full this year. But listen close, 1-C, because those photographers were small-time yakuza."

Kizuna looked up between her snow-white bangs.

"There's no reason to be alarmed," Nezu assured, because students' faces began dropping like bricks. "In terms of yakuza, they're bottom of the barrel. One warning from us has scared them off. But let this be a lesson, General Studies. Criminals aren't made out of cardboard. They have connections and families that you might not be aware of until it's too late."

Nezu seemed to look right at Kizuna as he said, "Never allow yourself to think you know, without a doubt, what a person is capable of being."

* * *

One benefit about living in a big metropolis was that something was always happening.

Kizuna's foray with disaster was quickly forgotten under the pile of homework, villainy on the news, and the two hundredth title of a famous superhero movie franchise coming out. When Bakugou passed her in the hallway, he treated her like she was invisible. It was the most pleasant interaction they ever had together.

She was a little surprised by it. She'd been waiting all weekend for an expulsion letter to come from UA. But that guy really didn't breathe a word about an almost-stolen pocky. Kizuna had escaped by the skin of her teeth. _I gotta be more careful next time_—she shook her head. No, there wouldn't be a next time. She had to control herself and pay for snacks properly using her dead sister's life insurance, like a normal high school girl.

Though… what exactly was normal in UA?

She met 1-B when they came into the infirmary after an energetic training exercise with Vlad King. Holding packets of ice to their heads, they greeted the healer in General Studies.

In the group of students milling around, Kizuna recognized a wily face. "Tokage Setsuna? I didn't know you went here."

"Ah," said the girl with dark green hair and pointed teeth. Her eyes widened. "Ah! You're _that_ Yokoyama! Hell, I should've known!"

Actually, thinking back, her grandma might've mentioned it. But the first week of school had been so turbulent (her own fault), Kizuna forgot to look for her.

"You know her, Tokage?" asked a girl with an orange ponytail.

"Our uncles married." Setsuna waggled a finger between her and Kizuna. "We're technically family."

"I don't think we see each other enough to be technically family," she said wryly, and Setsuna shrugged in agreement. She spotted a serene-looking girl with ivy hair and a beastly-looking boy with glasses. "You're a Shiozaki, aren't you? And a… Shishida?"

"A holy light has guided a lamb to my presence," said the Shiozaki, clutching her hands like a prayer.

"Well-spotted," said the Shishida with a toothy grin.

If 1-A had Iida Tenya, Yaoyorozu Momo, and Todoroki Shouto, then 1-B also had its pick of kids from notable Hero families.

"A Yokoyama, right?" said an insectoid boy with a bright green mohawk. "From the sidekick clan? Ah, no offense."

"What's there to be offended about?" Kizuna replied.

"Hey, hey, I heard something about a switchblade and a kid from 1-A," said Setsuna eagerly. "What happened with that?"

Before Kizuna could muddle through an answer, Recovery Girl told her to focus on healing injuries while she went around pecking kisses.

The orange ponytail girl thanked her on behalf of the class. Kendo Itsuka. There was Tetsutetsu, an _incredibly_ enthusiastic voice she'd been hearing in the cafeteria, and a smirking blond boy who sparkled at Kizuna and then hissed at his classmates to get the healer on their side before 1-A could snatch her up.

A black-haired boy sat on the infirmary bed to watch his bruises mend itself. He was wearing a blue-and-white bandana with geometric prints. It caught her eye and she grasped his arm and asked, "_Utari_?"

He looked at her in surprise. "Shit, what?"

"Oh. Sorry." Kizuna turned to heal a sprained finger on a mushroom-headed girl.

Behind her, Tsuburaba chuckled about a wasted opportunity as he ribbed Awase. Itsuka told them to cut it out before Monoma thought they were sabotaging his mastermind plan.

Monoma turned out to be the sparkling blond one, who kept asking Kizuna if she's healed the students of 1-A yet, and what their Quirks were, and if she had any possible deductions about their weaknesses.

"Our deepest apologies for him," said Shishida while dragging Monoma away.

As 1-B left, Recovery Girl patted them with a gentle, "Take care now," and shoved candy into their hands. Class 1-B basked in the warmth of a such a sweet old lady… but that gentle voice had chewed Kizuna out for almost forgetting to sanitize her hands before touching a student patient. Recovery Girl didn't tolerate any shortcuts or laziness in her infirmary.

"How was that, Kizuna-chan?"

"No sweat," she assured, washing her hands at the sink. This was such a productive day she wouldn't even feel guilty if she rushed through homework and played video games for the rest of the night… which, incidentally, sounded like the perfect plan…

"You've been healing splendidly."

"Aw, shucks." Kizuna batted her eyelashes, then shrugged. "But those were just tiny wounds."

"We want consistency, not great shows of skill," Recovery Girl reminded. "Consistent healing done the right way. Little by little. One step at a time. Now, eat something so you don't pass out on the way home."

Munching on a chocolate chip cookie, Kizuna was heading out when she got stopped in the hallway.

"Psst! You! White hair! With the earrings!"

Behind a corner, a stunning upperclassman beckoned her over in a manner that was not suspicious _at all_.

* * *

Hado Nejire was a whirlwind of long periwinkle hair and shining eyes.

"If he goes to Recovery Girl one more time, she'll yell at our homeroom teacher. We keep telling him not to go overboard, but ever since he started training with Sir Nighteye, he keeps getting injured! It's a work-study, you see. Is this your first time on the senior floor? I'll show you around later if you want. Wow, are those fangs? That's kinda cute! Are they as sharp as they look? Oh, this is my class. You look like you bite your lips a lot, you should get some lip balm for that. Hey, Mirio! I found her!"

Kizuna's head was spinning. Before she knew it, she had been swept up in the hurricane and deposited in 3-B, a senior Hero Studies class. The layout was pretty much exactly like a freshman classroom, though perhaps the windows were slightly bigger. And it was populated by seniors—the students in UA who were the closest to becoming pros—who all glanced at the dizzied freshman as Nejire lead her forward by the wrist.

Kizuna peered past the shorter girl, nibbling on her lip. "…Tamaki-senpai?"

"…H-hey," he mumbled into his desk.

"Eh? Eh? You two know each other? Ooooh!" Nejire clapped her hands. "Is she the girl you met while working with Fatgum? I didn't know she also went to UA!"

The black-haired senior had his arms crossed over his desk, his head bowed over it with terrible posture. The guy sitting backwards on a chair next to him was the blond boy Kizuna had seen around the cafeteria with Fatgum's nervous mentee. He gave her a brilliant smile and introduced himself as Togata Mirio.

Then he whipped off his shirt. "Am I bread? Because I'm in le pain!"

The grave silence that followed prompted Nejire to remark on its magnificence.

"Actually, Hado…"

Then, a hyena-scream of laughter erupted from 3-B. _I'm not strong enough_, Kizuna thought, pink-faced and almost crying.

"Birds of a feather… or something…" Tamaki finished.

"Le success!" Mirio triumphed. He leaned forward, hugging the back of his chair. "Whoa, warm hands!"

She began healing the deep bruises on Mirio's back. _Iyohai_… she would've never guessed he'd been injured this badly by the cheerful tone of his voice. This guy was real good at disguising his pain. It… was a little disturbing.

"I think there's a torn muscle deep in there." She wiggled Neogenesis around the planes of his back. Normally, such an array of muscles would've made her blush, but when she was healing someone she was a stone-cold professional. "If you don't mind a bit of experimenting, senpai…"

"Do your worst—ACK."

She karate-chopped him between the shoulderblades.

"General Studies, huh?" Nejire said thoughtfully. "I guess that makes sense. You can't take down villains by healing. But General isn't bad at all! My girlfriend's a General senior. Yuyu's coursework is _insane_. She's gonna go to Todai for criminal law, y'know. Isn't that awesome?"

"Awesome," Kizuna agreed. UA's General Studies students were a shoo-in for prestigious universities. However, her college plans had always been to raise sheep on Ekashi's farm in Hokkaido, so…

Mirio stretched, the bruises vanished from his back. "Whoo! Feelin' back on my A game! Thanks, little healer!"

"…Hey, little healer, can you also help me out with this?" Nejire unbuttoned her waistcoat and lifted up her shirt. Once again, Kizuna suppressed the urge to blush as she touched a nasty green bruise on her ribs. "Amajiki, show her the cut you got the other day."

"It's not that bad…" he muttered.

"Please take a look," Mirio said cheerily, gesturing at his friend. "It's infected."

"What?" Kizuna gasped. Mirio poked Tamaki's shoulder until he got so agitated he rolled up his sleeve and showed her. "Tamaki-senpai! You should've had this treated! I don't care if Recovery Girl can be scary, do you want your arm to fall off?"

His mouth squirmed. "I get it," he said, forcing himself to look at Kizuna as though it was causing him immense pain. "I screwed up so bad, you're threatening to break my arm…"

"That's not _at all_ what I said!"

She always knew Pro Heroes pushed themselves to unhealthy degrees, but she was starting to realize Hero students weren't any better. Sure, maybe Kizuna carried around a switchblade and sometimes wrecked cars with a baseball bat. But just because she was a little wild and traumatized (she was still grieving, okay, it's a process) didn't mean she actively courted danger. This was _serious injury_ territory.

Then Kizuna thought of 1-A and 1-B… and for the first time, felt an inkling of dread.

_They better not be dumbasses._

* * *

Later that night, her phone chirped. Kizuna stuck her head out from under the covers, setting her gaming console aside. Opened textbooks and half-finished homework lay in a mess around her.

**Unknown Number** (7:47 pm)  
_Kizuna, right? It's Hado Nejire.__ I got your number from the flea. Thanks for today!  
__[blue heart emoji]_

She spent twenty minutes deliberating on the perfect, casually witty reply to her charming senpai.

**Kizuna** (8:10 pm)  
_You're welcome. :)_

"Aaaargh, why do I still sound dumb…!?"

* * *

Doodling in her notebook, Kizuna was only half-paying to the lecture Cementoss was giving.

The sky was so blue outside… the trees were swaying, flowers in bloom… she imagined flopping down in the grass with her headphones on, stretching like a lazy cat in the sun and watching the birds flutter about… the idle chatter of other students around her, Iida Tenya zooming by like he was about to shit his pants…

…_Wait, Iida?_

Sitting up straight, she watched what was most certainly the Iida family hero suit sprint across the UA grounds and into the school building. It looked like he was shouting something, but she was too far away to tell. Kizuna glanced around; beside her, Kumoko was taking notes. Across the classroom, the line of Shinsou's shoulders was relaxed. No one else saw.

Cementoss rumbled on. A large cloud passed over the school, dispersing the sunlight. She clicked her mechanical pencil over and over, watching the shadow of her pencil lengthen over her notebook…

Then she heard it.

Shouts.

Iida tore down the hallway, the windows rattling from the force of his speed. He went by so fast he was practically an afterimage, but his voice thundered behind him: "_Villains_! _At USJ_!"

Cementoss dropped his book.

"Stay in the classroom!" he ordered 1-C and ran out, following after Iida.

The class immediately broke into confused shouts, abandoning their books and reaching for their phones to check the news. Kizuna was the first one standing up, her heart palpitating, and then Shinsou was at her desk.

"He said villains."

She nodded. "I heard 1-A is in some kind of training simulation today."

"Sounds too real to be a simulation," Shinsou muttered, and shivers raced up her back because he was right.

She pulled her switchblade out of her backpack and stuck it in her pocket. "_Yai_! You guys!" Kizuna called to her class. "I don't want to sound alarmist, but maybe we should… start barricading ourselves or something."

"Are you sure?" Chikuchi was scrolling through her social media feed. "I don't see anything weird."

"There can't really be villains on campus."

"This has to be a joke."

"The Hero teachers are leaving," Shinsou said sharply, looking out the window. A squad of Pro Hero teachers, Iida among them, were racing across the grounds.

"What? No way, why would they—"

"ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS," blared the loudspeaker, an ear-shattering siren that made Kizuna shriek and clap her hands over her ears. Shinsou winced. "UA IS ON LOCKDOWN."

"Is this a drill?" Agoyamato shouted wildly.

"THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

Shinsou caught her gaze. She forced herself not to laugh.

"ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS. UA IS ON LOCKDOWN."

Across all the bulletproof windows, an insulating metal barrier began lowering. It blocked UA from the outside world with the level of impenetrable defense one would expect from a government building or a military compound.

Kizuna's eyes widened as her entire class was dropped into darkness. _Holy shit._

"Oh my god, are we being attacked!?" Kumoko cried, as the sirens kept blaring and flashing red.

"PLEASE HEAD TO THE NEAREST CLASSROOM. DO NOT EXIT THE SCHOOL. DO NOT EXIT THE SCHOOL."

Students had surged into the dark hallways, shouting at each other over the loudspeakers, trying to find out what was going on. As the siren boomed its warning, teachers yelled at everyone to get back inside. Mitsu was on the phone with her mom, crying _something's happening, I'm scared_—Chikuchi was urging people to get under their desks, and Kumoko was shrieking for somebody to lock the fucking doors—

Sweat dripped down her brow, her heart beating unnaturally loud. The noise was suffocating. Her glittery blue nails dug into her legs, pressing into her tights.

"KIZUNA," the loudspeaker blared, but it wasn't the normal robotic voice. No, it was Yuuka. Every syllable echoed with the baritone of a thumping heart. "KIZUNA, YOUR FRIENDS ARE DYING."

The world tunneled. She couldn't breathe.

"WHY WEREN'T YOU PREPARED? WHY WEREN'T YOU READY FOR THIS?" Yuuka screamed from the loudspeaker, the little voice box situated at the top of the classroom as though someone high above was bellowing down. "WHY CAN YOU NEVER SAVE THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU? YOU CAN'T HELP ANYONE. YOU COULDN'T HELP ME."

Kizuna covered her face; the screams weren't coming from the loudspeaker, but from her.

"Yokoyama." Hands grasped her shoulders. A steady voice, pulling her back from the choking darkness. "Yokoyama, what's my name?"

She forced herself to remember how to speak. "Sh-Shin—"

"_Sit down and take slow, deep breaths_," he told her, and then nothing else mattered. "I'm going to lock the doors."

Her mind went blank. She sat down on the floor. The only thing that concerned her was taking deep breaths that filled her lungs, and then breathing out. Her heartbeat slowed. Her panic was replaced by tranquility. Floating a few feet over her body, Kizuna serenely looked around. Her classmates were ducking under tables. The sirens were as quiet as the hum of ladybugs.

Right as Shinsou closed the classroom doors, it slammed open again. The class shrieked. Floating-Kizuna gasped as a ponytail of orange appeared.

"Everyone okay?" Kendo Itsuka shouted, glancing around the shocked classroom. "We saw the engine guy in 1-A—he was yelling about villains on campus! Vlad King left with him!"

"Cementoss too," Shinsou told her.

She nodded and looked over her shoulder. Because it wasn't just Itsuka who arrived; the entire class of 1-B stood behind her like a cavalry. The palpable terror in the classroom physically decreased at the sight of the Hero students.

"Remember the plan," Itsuka told her class. "General, Business, and Support! Two of us per class!"

"Fear not, General Studies!" Monoma said with a gallant wave of his hand. "1-B is here to protect you!"

"Hurry up!" The others pushed him forward and the rest of 1-B raced off.

Itsuka, rolling up her sleeves and shaking out her hands, and Tetsutetsu, the brawny boy made of iron who was cracking his knuckles like he was rearing for a good fight, took their positions at the east and west classroom doors.

"Are we safe here?" Agoyamato called, trembling under his desk.

"I don't know," Itsuka said, looking down the dark hallway. "We don't know anything."

Shinsou grasped Kizuna's arm, waking her up. Her dull pink eyes came back to life. He was telling her to keep breathing and stay calm, despite the fact that his hand was also trembling as it held her arm. But the line of his shoulders, she thought, looked brave.

"Thanks, Shinsou."

Then her hands braced themselves on the floor, bracelets jangling, and she jumped to her feet.

Goro burst into the classroom, his detective coat flying behind him. He was breathing hard like he had just forced his way out of the locked door of the teacher's office so he could race up to 1-C, which was exactly what happened.

"Is everyone alright!? Stay under your desks—_Yokoyama_! Where are you going!?"

* * *

A villain attack.

1-A.

Midoriya. Momo. Iida. Todoroki. Even Bakug—how many were dead?

Running through UA during a lockdown was terrifying. The hallway windows facing the outside world were covered by an armored layer of metal, and the only lights were the sirens that lit the hallways in flashing red. Terrified faces peered out from the classroom windows as Kizuna ran by, and it was by the grace of her UA uniform that they stopped themselves from screaming that a villain had broken in.

"Took you long enough," Recovery Girl greeted when she burst into the infirmary.

"Reporting for duty," Kizuna panted, bracing her hands on her knees.

Recovery Girl touched her earpiece. "I'm getting word. The heroes have secured USJ. You can breathe easy, Kizuna. Out of all the students, Midoriya was the only one injured. Two broken legs, one broken finger. And…" She paused for a length of time that makes the pit in Kizuna's stomach widen. "All Might."

All Might? _All Might_? _Injured_? _No way, no way, no way—_

"Only two people," Kizuna said, controlling her panic. "That's not bad."

"No. Eraserhead and Thirteen are in critical condition. They're heading to the hospital. I'll be taking care of Midoriya and All Might. But you have a choice now. You can either go back to class, or you can go to the hospital and heal heroes in a real setting."

Recovery Girl's Quirk didn't work when the injured had little life force left to spend. But Kizuna, with her sister's Quirk that relied on her own life force, could help those teachers.

"The battlefield," her mentor added, "is where heroes are born."

"And commonly where they're killed, right?" Kizuna joked shakily. Yuuka, leaning against Recovery Girl's desk, burst out laughing.

Outside UA, she didn't have to wait long for a ride to the hospital. A police car screeched to a stop and the windows rolled down.

"…Detective Tsukauchi?"

"Shall we, Kizuna-san?"

* * *

She knew hospitals. When she was younger, getting her Quirk tested. When she went to see her father for the last time before they cremated him. When she woke up with a new heart and a dead sister. She had volunteered at an emergency clinic over the past year; she had seen her fair share of cuts and sprains and weird rashes.

This was, on paper, Kizuna's natural home field advantage.

A nurse who had been alerted by Recovery Girl about a young healer coming from UA ushered Kizuna into the ICU wing of the hospital. Doctors and nurses raced down the hall, wheeling stretchers. Kizuna glanced over her shoulder at Detective Tsukauchi, who said he was heading back to UA before wishing her luck. He left through the glass entrance doors.

The nurse brought her to the operating rooms. Monitors beeped rapidly. Doctors in their scrubs were already beginning surgery. Nurses were hooking up tubes into machinery and reading out vital signs.

Kizuna stopped.

Eraserhead, his arms bent all wrong and bleeding from his face, was in one room. Thirteen, her suit half-demolished, was in the next.

"Broken arms, dislocated shoulder." A slender figure in all-black circled Eraserhead's operating table. There was so much blood. "Multiple lacerations to the head. Severe concussion, internal hemorrhaging, eye sockets pulverized. He's in trouble." In the next room, Yuuka bent over Thirteen. "Oh, this is new. There's no body in here, mataki."

A nurse was urgently asking Kizuna who she was prepared to heal, Eraserhead or Thirteen.

All the color drained from her face. "I, I don't—what am I supposed to do?"

"Are you asking me how to use your own Quirk?" the nurse said in disbelief.

"I—I've never healed wounds like that before—"

"I don't care what you haven't done. Can you do it now, or can't you?"

"Can I?" Kizuna repeated numbly. _Yuuka, come back. Please come back!_

With a nebulous smile, her dead sister vanished behind the doctors.

Kizuna stood in front of the operating rooms, her fists balled up in her skirt, her fangs digging into her lip. (_Wake up._) She had worked so hard to get into UA, to have opportunities like this. (_Wake up!_) She had to be brave. (_This has to be a dream._) She had to prove she could be a great hero like Tutari. She had to.

(_WAKE UP!_)

She bit through her lip.

In times of great peril, a proper hero rose to the occasion. Like Class 1-A, who fought for their lives. Like Iida, running through UA as he gathered help.

Kizuna didn't rise.

She choked, clutching her bloody mouth.

"I can't. I can't—I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't."

* * *

The first time it happened, she was making breakfast.

A smooth, cold egg, freshly collected from the chickens. Sliding around in the kitchen to some overplayed pop song on Ekashi's radio, Kizuna flicked on the stove, buttered up the frying pan, and firmly cracked the egg against the pan.

It split open, top to bottom, the shell imploding. The yolk got all over her fingers. Oozing yellow.

_Cracked me open like an—_

Her heart was on the edge of bursting.

Ekashi found her on the floor of the kitchen with eggshells all over the ground, hugging her very confused dog and trying to breathe again.

* * *

In an empty, nondescript hallway, Kizuna sat with her head in her knees.

She'd been sitting there for over an hour, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. But she might as well have been a decorative plant for all the attention people paid to her.

Should she go back to school and face Recovery Girl's disappointment? What other choice did she have? She left her bag in UA, phone and wallet included. She'd have to walk back, but she was familiar with the area and the school was close by. Kizuna tried lifting her legs. But her body refused to respond, like it was determined to sit in that spot in the hospital and turn to dust.

Hero mottos swirled through her head. _Never fear, for I am here. Plus ultra. No guts, no glory._

_Fucking coward_. That should be her motto. _Stupid piece of shit playing pretend. You fuck-up. Can't do anything right. This isn't your Quirk. This shouldn't be your life. Why are you even here in the first place? Who said you could do this? Nobody wants you here. Why don't you just run away from everything and disappear—_

"Hey, hey. Slow down." A shadow in a black coat sat next to her, white hair looped in a ponytail. "Wanna talk about it?"

Kizuna shook her head, tonguing her bruised lip.

"_Aiai paraparak wa an_."

She wasn't a crybaby.

"Sure you're not."

_This would've never happened to you._

"Are you sure about that? Why have you never asked me about all the times I've failed?"

_I never wanted to know._ She squeezed her eyes tight. _I wanted to believe you were indestructible. You and Dad and all the heroes who've died—you promise us you can't lose._

"Now you know how it feels." Yuuka sighed, hugging her knees. "I never wanted you to be a hero. This shit can break you."

Bottles of painkillers popping open. Bloody bandages on the bathroom floor. Yuuka, her eyes horridly wet, her voice scathing, and _I wish to god you'd know what this is like!_ as dinner burned on the frying pan. _I know_, Kizuna thought desperately, wanting to die and laugh and die again in the way she'd never been able to properly describe in her whole sixteen years of being alive. _I know now. Fuck, I'm sorry._

"Are you alright?"

It took a minute for her to register the voice was talking to her.

Her head lifted, red-rimmed eyes squinting in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

A man who looked like he just got out of a car accident stood in front of her. His gaunt face with long strands of yellow falling around it was oddly familiar.

Midoriya's skinny, frail mentor smiled down at her. "May I sit?"

"You're hurt," she said, her voice cracking slightly.

"Nothing serious. I was heading out when I saw you here." With a slight wince, he sat down in the space a shadow had just occupied, touching the side of his stomach. Though his expression strained, his voice was chipper. "Are you with the UA folks that came in?"

"No. I mean, yes, but…" Her head sank back on her knees. It was obvious by her uniform.

He was quiet, inviting her to continue.

Kizuna wasn't just going to unload all her problems on some random guy. But he sounded so kind, and he remembered her from the beach, and her mouth was already moving before she could stop herself: "I couldn't—I couldn't heal them. I couldn't do anything."

"Ah, a young hero," he observed, coughing lightly into a napkin. "It's a heavy burden. The responsibility. The notion that someone's life is in your hands."

She squeezed her fists so tight it felt like her knuckles were about to snap. "It doesn't matter anymore. I can't go back in there. Not after leaving. I can't show my face after I—they saw me _run_."

They saw her run. Who comes back from that? Her career as a hero was over before it even began.

The man said, "I see."

Kizuna curled deeper into herself, wanting to disappear.

"Do you know what the worst way to kill a student is?" he asked her, and when she didn't respond, he said, "It's to tell them they can't ever make mistakes. Many heroes start off knowing nothing but victory. When they eventually get knocked down—as everyone does—some simply don't get up. Their pride never recovers. They become terrified of shame. They stop being heroes."

She looked over her arms, meeting pinpricks of blue beneath his shadowed brow.

His haggard face pulled in a goofy grin. "I'm sure even All Might would tell you his courage isn't without fear."

"…It's not just fear," Kizuna mumbled, biting back a fresh wave of self-disgust. "All Might's never been ashamed of anything in his life. He doesn't know what it feels like to be weak… to be useless."

The man leaned his head back against the wall. In the corner of her eye, she could see his baggy pants slouching over the worn-down shoes. Skinny fingers resting over knees.

"I," he said, "often think about how easy it is for a hero to save the day by punching the hardest. It's much easier to, say, threaten a boy with a knife than it is to be understood. But when the battle's over, the destruction and pain that remains cannot be fought off with violence or anger. There are so very many things that All Might can't do."

There was something oddly specific included in the man's advice, but Kizuna didn't linger on it.

She pressed her chin into her arms, mulling over his words. "Do you… think All Might's ever failed to save anyone?"

The man scratched at a bandage on his face. "I don't believe," he said carefully, "that a Pro Hero who always wins exists. What matters is whether or not they can look your loved ones in the eye as they apologize, and return to fight another day."

"…He apologized to me once."

"Oh?"

"All Might looked me in the eye, so he must've… tried really hard." Kizuna took a deep breath and slapped her cheeks. "Thanks, weird mister."

As she stood, bowed her head at him, and went off, the man wondered up to the ceiling, "Weird mister? Is that what I've become to kids these days…?"

* * *

The nurses didn't let her in at first. They told her to wait outside because they weren't sure if they needed her help, which was an indirect way of saying they weren't going to let her in just for her to choke again. And maybe that was a good sign; Eraserhead and Thirteen must be out of the woods if they thought she was unnecessary. But Kizuna stood outside of the operating rooms. Waiting. Looking like a pathetic fox with her disheveled hair and wide, pleading eyes.

Finally, finally, _finally_ they let her in.

Class 1-A's homeroom teacher was deep in unconsciousness, lying on a bed with tubes sticking out of his arms and nose. Next to him, a heart monitor beeped steadily. The doctors fixed him up as best they could, and now they were waiting for him to wake up. If he were to heal on his own, they said, it would take months.

Supervised by a doctor, Kizuna sat down beside his bed, staring at that straggly, battered hero. Eraserhead somehow looked just as scary when he was cataleptic. His chest, riddled in old scars and fresh stitches, rose and fell slowly.

_Little by little_, she told herself. _Consistency. One step at a time._

The power came to her hands. Warm and gentle, spooling off her fingers like honey. She shepherded it into his nearly-disintegrated elbow. Kizuna flinched as she felt the amount of bruising his body took. The awfulness of what had happened to 1-A began to seep in. She heard whispers from the nurses. Eraserhead and Thirteen had gone up against dozens of villains on their own as they protected their students.

Tissue and bone flourished with new cells. A stubborn crack in the radius; she fixed that. His arm was broken in seven more places. She expanded her river of healing through capillaries, up chords of muscle.

Then she felt it. Traces of a phantom hand, grabbing Eraserhead's arm so hard it snapped into splinters.

A full-body shudder lurched through her.

Nausea. She had never been nauseated while healing before.

Kizuna bit her lip, riding out the bout of dizziness. _Don't get emotional again. It won't help. You're not a fucking crybaby._

…Even if she couldn't believe how much courage it must've taken to stand there, facing a group of very mean people that wanted to kill you and your students, and not run… _oh, shit_, she thought, tearing up, _shit, shit, shit…_

"Remarkable," the doctor voiced, watching the dark red swelling on his shoulder vanish under a haze of gentle white. "Yokoyama, correct?"

Kizuna subtly wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Yeah?"

"I had no idea Tutari had a sibling with the same Quirk. She was a magnificent hero. You have big shoes to fill."

A pair of hand-me-down Air Force 1's dug into the floor.

"Yeah," she said again, quieter.

It still took her an abysmally long amount of time to heal organ damage. She needed to study more. When she finally fixed his stomach, Kizuna slipped off the chair and keeled over.

The nurses berated her for not telling them how her Quirk drained her energy. They put her in a cushioned chair and shoved a tray of rice and fish in her lap, then prohibited her from healing Eraserhead again until she ate and slept.

Goro limped by to check on his student. He also brought her backpack and books, so she could (_sigh_) do her homework. He relayed that everyone in the school was fine; UA's defensive maneuvers were a bit of an overkill. He also gave her a stern talking-to about running off in the middle of lockdowns. Though, Goro added, he was impressed by her hardboiled actions today. And she didn't even need to hit anything with a baseball bat.

"I heard Detective Tsukauchi dropped you off here."

Kizuna blinked. "He did."

"Hmph… I see… Tsukauchi, that little so-and-so…" Goro kept muttering to himself as he peered out the door, looked both ways like he was checking for enemies, and somersaulted away as a nurse walking by screamed.

Curling up on the chair, Kizuna checked her phone.

Thirty missed calls from her grandma… six from Fatgum… two missed texts from Shinsou… _iyohai…_

She called her grandma and got permission to stay at the hospital overnight. Grandmother was delighted that two heroes almost died and Kizuna was one who (helped a tiny little bit, following a team of professional surgeons) saved them. Gran would've made a fantastic serial killer in another life. Her hobbies consisted of tea ceremonies, nagging, and dramatic reenactments of violent bloodshed.

"_Kizuna!_ _Are you alive?_" Fatgum's shout nearly ruptured her eardrum.

She switched her phone to her right ear while she dug her pinky into her left. "Aw, Fatto, were ya worried?"

"_Shit._" She kind of loved it when Fatgum swore. He relished the vowels and spat out the ending like it insulted his mother. All Kansai bravado._ "Shit,_" he said again._ "I'm glad you're safe. Damn straight I was worried_."

"Really?" she said blankly. It was a joke.

"_The hell do you mean, 'really'?_"

"I'm not in Hero Studies. I wasn't in danger."

"_Sheesh, kid. That don't mean I can't make sure yer okay._"

Kizuna supposed that was a fair point, considering she did not have a good track record of being okay. After talking with Fatgum, she opened her text messages.

**Kizuna** (7:25 pm)  
_Did I miss anything fun?_

Text bubbles appeared immediately. She smiled.

**Shinsou** (7:25 pm)  
_School's cancelled tomorrow. You okay?_

She didn't know why people kept asking her that.

**Kizuna **(7:25 pm)  
_I'm fine. Idk what I'm allowed to say, but… everyone's alive.  
__What about you? 1-C?_

**Shinsou** (7:26 pm)  
_No traumatic incidents to report._

**Shinsou** (7:26 pm)  
_[sticker of a cat drinking coffee]_

**Kizuna** (7:26 pm)  
_[sticker of a cat picking its nose]_

**Shinsou** (7:26 pm)  
_[sticker of a cat leaving]_

She was so happy Shinsou was friends with her.

_Today was crazy,_ she texted Yuuka. _Let me tell you about it. Though I guess you have no other choice but to listen. This is kind of a one-sided conversation. Anyway…_

Taking a nap while the doctors on the night shift checked in, Kizuna woke up around dawn under a pile of blankets a nurse left on her. She clambered out and went back to healing Eraserhead. It was going to take at least another day to repair his face. His cheeks, jaw, nose, and skull had been damaged so heavily.

She rested a hand over his eyes, wincing at the brutalization she felt there. Healing was like grinding levels in a video game, Kizuna discovered. Meditative. She was lost in thought as she straightened out muscle, gently realigned bone… the heart monitor beeping steadily in the background…

The hospital room lightened. The sun was rising over the smoggy cityscape, a spot of orange over gleaming skyscrapers.

Sharp pink eyes narrowed at Eraserhead. It was slightly bothering her, the fact that she never heard of this hero before. The other Pro Hero teachers were famous, and she recognized all of them either on the news or through her grandmother's social gatherings.

Who exactly was 1-A's homeroom teacher?

Curiosity got the better of her. She shut off the warm haze of Neogenesis, turned on her seething, hungry Exalt, and reached for his Quirk.

(_a calm, cold logic that negated all other reckless emotions—a chilling calculation that cut like a red dagger, a gaze that took hold of her and wouldn't let go, she was staring into an abyss that was staring back, nullifying everything—_)

"Hey."

Kizuna snatched her hand back, about to stammer apologies. But Eraserhead's eyes were still closed as he rasped, "Got any water?"

She quickly pinged a nurse, then found a paper cup, filled it with clean water, and helped 1-A's homeroom teacher sit up to drink.

His eyes half-opened, bleary and dark.

"And all I thought you were good for was pulling switchblades on my students."

* * *

In the morning, a group of adults came by to see Eraserhead and Thirteen, who was still undergoing treatment in another room.

But they weren't just any adults. They were UA teachers in their civvies.

Kizuna didn't know where to go when Present Mic burst through the door. She tried moving into a corner, but there was Vlad King walking by as he remarked on Eraserhead's state with a friendly grin. She tried backing into her chair, but Ectoplasm and all of his… teeth had sat in it.

Taking a step to the side, she bumped into a dark-haired woman with sky-blue eyes behind her glasses.

"Tutari would be proud," Midnight said.

Kizuna nodded slightly. She wasn't quiet because she was nervous—she'd been around Pro Heroes her whole life—but she didn't trust herself not to say anything dumb. She was dizzy from the lack of sleep, and that made for bad foot-in-mouth syndrome.

Case in point: the moment Recovery Girl stepped in and said _I heard you helped some heroes_, Kizuna replied, "No, I'm just here to steal some nasty-ass jello." She fidgeted with her bracelets as Midnight coughed into her hand. "Sorry I said ass, Recovery Girl."

"Get some rest." Recovery Girl dropped a bunch of matcha-flavored Kit Kats into Kizuna's hand.

"I'm still not done healing—"

"You've done far more than expected."

Eraserhead was sitting up in bed; his right arm was fully healed, his left arm was halfway there, and his face… looked like a face now. A naturally unkempt sort of face, but nonetheless. His deeper wounds were still twisting themselves into scars. He gave his right hand an experimental flex, the healed veins on his arms protruding slightly.

"I'll take care of the rest." Recovery Girl patted Kizuna's hand. "You look exhausted."

"Yokoyama," said Vlad King, his burly arms crossed over his chest. "We had a long discussion about placing you in General or Hero. That doesn't typically happen."

Present Mic grinned. "Keep it up, kid. You've received high marks from all of us."

Kizuna ventured a glance at the tired, unshaven Eraserhead. It was slight, but his head dipped a fraction in thanks.

She practically floated out the door. "Um," Kizuna said abruptly, a thought occurring to her, "are the villains getting treated at this hospital?"

A room full of Pro Heroes stared at her.

"I… I just thought I should heal—I mean, if they died, the police won't be able to get any answers from them, right?"

"For our safety, they're being treated elsewhere," Midnight said. "Under strict surveillance. We have capable doctors, police, and heroes monitoring them. Meanwhile, school might be canceled today, but you still have homework to get to."

Kizuna ducked her head in humble contrition, shutting the door behind her. Then, once she was outside, she pressed her ear to the door.

"Trying to fish around for information," said Ectoplasm's deep voice.

"UA was just attacked, it's natural to be curious." Midnight.

"We're going to be fending off rumors for a while." Vlad King.

"1-A is under strict orders not to blabber." Present Mic. "This is your first class, you gotta make sure those kids listen."

"Quiet down yourself before you blame my students, Mic," said Eraserhead. "She's still outside."

Kizuna glanced down at her shadow, which was visible under the crack of the door. _Iyohai!_ She scampered off.

* * *

On her way out the hospital, after thanking the nurses who put up with her, she passed by Detective Tsukauchi, who was heading inside.

Curiously, a tall, skinny blond man was walking right beside him.

For a moment, she almost thought they were together. But then Midoriya's mentor made an about-face and ducked into a wing for breast screenings. The detective looked around wildly for a moment, and then his attention was diverted to the UA girl calling out his name.

"Good god, Kizuna-san," Tsukauchi said. "They didn't let you go yet?"

"I'm heading home right now." She nibbled on a Kit Kat between yawns, scratching her head. "I, uh, don't know who to ask about this, but… if the police learn anything new about What Happened, they'll… tell me, right?"

The detective was professional enough to look at her straight-on, without pity. "I'm sorry we haven't found any leads yet. But when we do, of course you'll be the first to know."

Three and a half years of hearing the same damn thing. She was never going to find out how Yuuka died. She was never going to get answers.

"Okay." Kizuna nodded shortly and walked on.

"I know it's frustrating to hear the same thing over and over, but… this takes time."

She turned under the bright lobby lights, a corner of her canines glinting. "Time is all I have, Detective. I'll be waiting."

Detective Tsukauchi tipped his hat at her, and they parted ways. He walked across the lobby, meeting his partner who was watching the interaction behind decorative potted plants, and they entered through the doors of the ICU wing.

The doors shut behind them, rocking back and forth…

…When the door opened again, Detective Tsukauchi was stepping through, his hat in his hands. He was three and a half years younger, and the room he stepped in was in a different hospital, in a different wing for special-care patients.

"Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa," he said. "My deepest apologies for what happened."

The young girl he was sent to see was lying in bed. A vase of fresh flowers from the hospital gift shop were placed by the window, though the spot of color only emphasized the rest of the blank, sterile hospital room. In the corner, a small tv was playing old reruns of Lupin the Third to keep her company. Over her ventilator mask, glassy eyes watched the gentleman thief approach his next daring heist with a cocky grin.

"We aren't hearing any signs of villains looking for you. Obviously, I can't tell you more than this, but we have contacts in the underworld. Rest assured, there's no danger to—"

"How can he do that?" the bald girl wondered. "Lupin steals all that money like it's nothing."

The detective glanced at the tv. He cleared his throat. "Kizuna-san, if I could ask a few questions…"

"Maybe he had something really important taken from him," the teenager went on casually. "Something that shouldn't be possible to take away. Then everything is fair game, right? Nothing matters. Rules are fake."

"Perhaps it feels that way in the beginning," said Detective Tsukauchi. "But I can assure you, that psychoanalysis won't hold up in court."

"You don't like Lupin?"

"I'm obligated to sympathize with Zenigata. It's in the contract we sign before we get our badges."

Her mouth twitched, little fangs glinting. She turned the tv off. "That's lame, but you're kinda funny. Ask me whatever, Detective."

The reports he read were correct; Yokoyama Kizuna was a bright young girl. Initially subdued when she woke up, now she was even making the nurses chuckle. They called her a cunning kid, somehow sneaking in pocky and chocolates without any of them knowing, even though she was supposed to be confined to her bed. The detective made a mental note to ask whether she'd seen a child psychologist.

"Was Tutari acting any different before it happened?" he said, standing a respectful distance from her bed. "Was she behaving oddly?"

Thin shoulders lifted and fell. "No."

"Could you take me through a normal day with her?"

Kizuna hesitated, and the detective could tell he'd caught her in a half-formed lie. "Yuuka was… working a lot. Sometimes she'd… come home after three or four days away. But that's not her fault," she added quickly, pinning a pink glare on him as though she was insulted he'd dare to ask. "There's always someone that needs to be saved."

"It was normal to see her for about half the week."

She went quiet again. Unconsciously or not, Detective Tsukauchi noted, she was aware of how this reflected on her sister. He felt himself being sized up by the young girl, her brow furrowed as she came up with the least offensive thing to say.

"I was ten when we moved out of our grandparents' house. Yuuka picked up extra hours because of me. She worked really hard to take care of me."

"Your father died when you were eight," he said.

She glanced away. "Right before Yuuka's graduation."

"And your mother?"

"She travels. Her Quirk is like Yuuka's. It's strong. She helps people who can't afford to pay for stuff." Her tone became defensive again. "It's not her fault people need saving."

"When children are taken, they're usually with another family member. We're trying to get ahold of your mother so we can bring her in for questioning."

"It wasn't her," Kizuna mumbled. "Mom wouldn't… Yuuka was the only one who took care of me." Her voice cracked. "The only one." She sniffed heavily and wiped her nose, the tubes attached to her arm pulling with the motion.

Perhaps that was enough for the day. He'd be back later for more questions. "Thank you for your time."

Detective Tsukauchi turned to leave.

"Time," he said again. "It'll get better with time."

Kizuna turned to the window as the door creaked shut. The skyline of Tokyo was a dreary grey, the autumn rains beginning their slow creep into the harbor city.

_I don't want it to get better._

_I don't want to heal._

_I don't want to be happy in a world where she's gone._

Like a connection between two locations called Past and Present, a train zoomed by. The wind sent strands of snow whipping about her face. On the platform, students her age heading to school were listening to a news report about UA on someone's phone.

Her eyelids were drooping, dark circles beneath them, but it was a _good_ sort of tired. The city was vibrantly alive, she was just another face in the sea of collective humanity, and she loved it.

"Hey, sapo," Kizuna murmured, passing through the throng of people going about their lives. "I'm one step closer. I swear I'll catch up to you."

Yuuka walked alongside her. A laugh sang out from her lovely scarred face. "I saw it, mataki. When you do, I'll be right here with you."

Little by little. One step at a time.

The girl with her older sister's heart entered the crowded train, vanishing among the wings, scales, and tails of Tokyo's morning commuters.

* * *

When she got home, her grandmother walked over as quickly as her kimono would allow (because ladies did not rush!). Kizuna held her arms out, expecting a hug; her grandmother seized her like a butcher examining a pound of meat, sniffed her hair, gasped at the state of her wrinkled shirt, and declared she _must_ shower immediately. Her grandfather was watching the news in the living room. He sent her off with a wave of passing acceptance.

As she turned on the shower, Kizuna thought about 1-B. She wondered how she should thank them, after they gallantly rushed to the other classes' defense. And… something nice for 1-A, after everything they'd been through…

She looked at the last matcha Kit Kat in her hand.

* * *

The basket was heavy, laden with baked sweets.

It was the first thing Class 1-A noticed when the door opened. They'd been talking around their desks waiting for homeroom to start, but now there was a girl walking inside. She had too many piercings and a perpetually disheveled uniform, her tie half-made and her sleeves rolled up, dirty AF-1's on her feet. Clutched in her hands was a cornucopia of baked goods.

The second thing they noticed was the delectable smell.

"Good morning." Kizuna raised her basket. "I'm from 1-C, down the hall. Would anyone like a homemade sweet?"

In an instant, she was swarmed by the girls of 1-A hungry for a post-breakfast snack. Blueberry muffins, yuzu tarts, and fluffy milk bread brushed over with Ezo haskapberry jam. Several rowdy boys pushed through, and the more reserved ones hung in the back.

"Kizuna, this is too much," Momo gasped even as her fingers snagged a tart. The other girls peered around her to investigate, _oooh_-ing and _ahhh_-ing.

"This is friggin' awesome," said a boy with crimson hair and eyes. "But, uh, what's the occasion?"

"Kirishima," said a black-haired boy with a wide smile, "didn't your mother ever tell you that when you stumble upon a pile of desserts, don't ask questions?"

Kizuna walked around, passing out sweets with nervous anticipation. Some muffins were burnt around the edges, the bread might've been slightly under-proofed…

But there were smiles all around, and she felt herself brightening. The long weariness of the hospital ebbed away. It was nice. Iida thanked her with an expression like he was more worried about cleaning up the crumbs. She crammed a muffin into his mouth.

Kizuna gave Iida a once-over as he obligingly chewed. "You alright?"

He coughed, adjusting his square-framed glasses. "Yes, thank you for asking."

"I saw how fast you were going. You clocked thirty, forty easy. You should tell Tensei."

"Yokoyama, please. Boasting is tasteless."

"Or I can do it for you," Kizuna proposed, and Iida demurred, rubbing his cheek. "Hey, shorty," she greeted as she saw a head of mossy green peering at her basket. "You got something on your face."

She brushed away a pale bruise on Midoriya's chin with her thumb. Recovery Girl said he'd broken several limbs, but he was looking fine today.

He pressed fingers to his chin, his mouth a nervous tremble. "Thanks."

"I know you!" said Uraraka around a mouthful of bread, her cheeks strikingly rosy. "You're the healer with the… switchblade, right?"

Kizuna beamed at her. Her fangs were extra sharp this morning. "Yokoyama Kizuna from 1-C." She gave 1-A an easy salute. "I'll be taking care of you this year. Thanks for not getting injured." _I'd be dead if I had to heal anyone besides Eraserhead._ "The USJ incident sounded rough. I hope these treats can… sort of… soothe your soul, I guess…?"

She fiddled with a strand of white hair, her self-assured grin turning into something more awkward and naturally charming. It was a visage that made the guarded 1-C open the gates, and by the looks of it, it was working the same magic on 1-A. (The muffins certainly didn't hurt.)

"It _was_ rough," said Kaminari, a kid with a black bolt in his hair. "I took on, like, forty of those thugs on my own."

"He's conveniently leaving out the part where he fried his brain," said Jiro, the cool girl with the earbud-shaped ears.

"Who attacked UA?" Kizuna tilted her head innocently (as Kaminari wailed at Jiro in the background). "What sort of villains were they?"

Years ago, she used to steal fancy mochi from her grandma's fancy tea ceremonies and hid them in her and Momo's dress pockets. Momo's face squirmed now just like it did then. "We've been told to not talk about that. I'm sorry."

"You're so good at following rules," she commended. "Is there anyone in 1-A who isn't? I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Kizuna added, laughing as Momo grabbed her arm.

"Yum!" A bright pink girl wiped crumbs off her mouth. "Hey, do we get snacks like these when we go to the infirmary?"

"Ashido, please don't get hurt just for a treat," Uraraka protested.

"Ehhhh? But Recovery Girl's candies are so tasty!"

"It's nice there's a healer student on call," said a girl who accepted a yuzu tart from Kizuna. She had large, dark eyes, a finger pressed to her mouth, and long black hair tied behind her back. "Asui Tsuyu. Call me Tsuyu-chan."

_Ah_. A thunderbolt hit Kizuna out of the blue. _The girls in Hero Studies are so cute._

This was the first time she was meeting the entirety of 1-A. They introduced themselves as they eagerly rifled through her basket. Momo was frowning at her. _Healer?_ she mouthed at Kizuna, who pretended like she didn't notice. A beefy-looking boy named Sato asked her if it was light brown sugar she used in her confectionaries. She was impressed, and when she told him so, he almost tripped over a chair.

The red-eyed _iwendep_ was scowling with his feet up on his desk. That blistering red narrowed at the sight of a fluffy piece of milk bread held out to him.

Kizuna shoved it at him with a hooded gaze. Her greasy fingers hadn't hit another convenience store ever since that day, stuffing down the impulse by biting her lip whenever she felt the urge. Sure, he might not be very nice to her, but she wasn't nice to him, either. And he must've gone through a lot of trauma during the USJ incident, and he didn't even mention anything to Principal Nezu, so—

In a quick arc, Bakugou smacked it out of her hand.

"Kacchan!" With lightning-fast reflexes, Midoriya made to grab it—and the jam side of the bread slipped across his fingers. It fell on his shoe with a thick _schlorp_.

"Hey, I _made_ that." Those haskapberries had been picked out of Ekashi's own garden!

"Sorry about him, he's untethered to common decency," said Tsuyu, as Iida and Uraraka went over to help a Midoriya mourning a perished dessert.

"Shaddup." Bakugou stuffed his hands back in pockets. Then his mouth tightened as he smelled the rest of her basket. "Fine. Gimme another."

"No. Eat your floor bread," Kizuna snapped, then turned to the boy sitting in the back who hadn't joined in the commotion at all.

She set down a yuzu tart before Todoroki Shouto. Prince Frost raised his off-colored eyes at her.

"I'm gonna be mad if you throw it away, _konru-po_." She rapped her knuckles twice on his desk.

Though Class 1-A was not afraid of making fun of their classmates (some might say the stronger they were, the funnier it was to get them riled up), this was still the beginning of the school year, and this was still the first time anyone outside of their class attempted to make casual conversation with Endeavor's kid. So it was understandable that the curt demand from the General Studies healer made the rest of the class pause for a moment, reexamining who exactly had baked them these treats.

"There's still half left," Ashido pointed out hungrily.

"For 1-B." Kizuna shouldered her basket. "They rushed to our class because they thought UA was under attack. It was super heroic."

A scornful _pffft_ came from one Bakugou Katsuki.

* * *

A similarly scornful _pffft_ came from one Monoma Neito.

"They were rescued by teachers, weren't they?" He flicked his yellow bangs back with a snort. "Hardly a feat of heroism!"

They were gathered around Kizuna's basket. She had bowed and thanked them for rushing to 1-C's aid, and they assured her that no thanks was necessary. Yet they still ate her treats with gusto… _if a grateful civilian was offering it to them_, the heroes-in-training reasoned, _it would only be rude not to_…

"It's good they weren't injured," said Itsuka, nodding as she ate a piece of milk bread.

"What a way of putting themselves on the map, that 1-A," Honenuki remarked, his huge mouth of teeth munching on a tart.

Tetsutetsu looked like he was on the verge of throwing his desk out the window and starting another lockdown.

"How horrible," murmured Kinoko. "I get shivers just thinking about it."

"Truly, an act of the most despicable nature," Kuroiro agreed.

"Spooooky." Reiko tickled Pony's back, making her shriek.

"Man, if only they attacked USJ a day before," Setsuna said with a brash grin, "we would've gotten a chance to kick some villain ass!"

"Tokage, impure light shines from you," Ibara rebuked.

"Nah, she's got the right idea," said the boys as they jostled each other to grab the last tart. "While we were practicing on training dummies, they were getting real experience fighting villains! That ain't fair, ya know?"

"Well…" Kizuna tilted her head. "Their homeroom teacher was pretty close to dying."

"…Wait, seriously?"

She crossed her arms behind her back. "Imagine Vlad King fucked up to pieces. His legs snapped, bones fractured, pieces of his ribcage rupturing his lungs. Imagine him throwing himself in front of a speeding train to protect you. But that's just another day for you heroes, right?"

…

…

…

"Damn it!" Tetsutetsu ferociously stuffed a whole yuzu tart in his mouth, and it spewed everywhere as he roared, "We're on the bottom rung of the ladder compared to 1-A! But we'll catch up! I swear it!"

"Cover your mouth when you yell, dude," said 1-B. "It's gross…"

"What's with the grin, Yokoyama?" Kaibara said.

Kizuna jolted. She'd been thinking to herself that a little friendly rivalry between Hero classes was the most adorably stereotypical high school thing ever. "Um—I'm just glad you guys like the treats," she said quickly. "Sorry that it's a little burned."

"That's the best part of homemade food," Tsubaruba said eagerly. "If the rest of the year is gonna be like this, I'm pumped to get injured."

Awase scoffed, "Ain't that a little much—"

"_So are we_!" exclaimed the girls in 1-B, sparkling at Kizuna.

Homeroom was about to start. She packed up her basket, folding the picnic cloth around the lone muffin left.

"Yokoyama." Itsuka stopped her before she could leave. "Thanks for this."

"No worries. It's the least I could do."

"When you ran off, did you go to the hospital?" Itsuka asked, and the other girl nodded. "I knew it."

"Sorry?"

"Everyone else might see you as just a General Studies healer," as the door closed, her green eyes gleamed, "but I don't think 1-A is our only competition."

Kizuna's grin dropped. She looked skyward. _How frightening. _She just wanted to get through the next three years with all her fingers intact. She'd be the first to tell 1-B that they were more impressive than they believed, and she didn't want any trouble with them.

The news was rampant with rumors about the villains that attacked UA. What they didn't report, however, was how the students of 1-B had formulated a plan to protect all the first year classes and the teachers who weren't heroes. Vlad King came back to find his classroom empty, and his students stationed in every classroom on the floor with their fists ready. When they assumed UA was in danger, not a single student of 1-B froze.

They, too, had risen to the occasion.

* * *

She crossed paths with Shinsou, who was slowing down from a jog.

"Cuttin' it close."

"Same to you," he greeted, out of breath and yanking his hand uselessly around his messy hair. His efforts were making it worse, somehow.

"Hey, I have a good excuse." Right before they entered their class, she dropped the last blueberry muffin in his pocket. Kizuna flashed him a grin over her shoulder and went over to her seat.

Before Goro could start homeroom, Kumoko raised her hand. Her cloud was dour and overcast. She stood up and apologized about panicking during the lockdown, something that surely made her unfit to be class representative, and pointed out that Shinsou was the only one who had his head on.

"It's okay," Chikuchi soothed. "It was a scary situation."

"We were all panicking," Kizuna assured, and internally cringed. _What an understatement…_

"You're fine," Shinsou told Kumoko in his typical direct manner. "Nobody's saying they don't want you as class rep anymore."

She sat down, her cloud puffy-white again. 1-C was much saner than the kids in Hero Studies. They definitely had none of the urge for a pissing competition. Kizuna was glad. She really liked them.

"Alright, you tough Janes and wiseguys! We had an eventful week, but it's time to get back to business." Goro rubbed his hands together. "The Sports Festival is coming!"

"Greaaaat," said 1-C. It was battle fodder time.

A fluttery nervous dread began building in Kizuna's gut.

But Goro's enthusiasm more than made up for his class's lack of it. "For those of you aiming for the Hero course, now's the perfect time to train your Quirk and give UA a taste of what you can do!"

1-C glanced in the same direction, as if thinking unanimously: _We all know who it's gonna be, right?_

* * *

"Aizawa-sensei, you're halfway healed," remarked Tsuyu.

The half-mummified body of their teacher wobbled up to the class podium. His right hand came up to scratch at a scar beneath his eye. "I was the recipient of some excessive treatment…"

* * *

Jittery, Kizuna raced through lunch as fast as she could and hurried to the infirmary. As she went through her daily ritual of scrolling through photos of Yuuka, a thought had occurred to her, a strange question. She had gasped so loud that Shinsou stopped biting into his muffin to inform her she'd gotten curry in her hair. Anyway, she wanted to get Recovery Girl's opinion.

"Recovery Girl! I—" She pulled open the door, and immediately took a step back. "Shit—sorry, I…"

Wait. She knew that man.

It was Midoriya's mentor. The weird mister from the hospital.

"That's quite alright." His polite smile bordered on awkward. "I was just leaving."

He eased himself up from the stool. His shirt was a shapeless bag around him. His trousers were ill-fitting and more suitable if he was in a supermarket trying to smuggle watermelons out the door. Was that dried blood on the side of his shirt?

Kizuna took a wary step back, looking him up and down. "…Are you a teacher here?"

"No, I'm… a patient of Recovery Girl's. Speaking of which, she went to speak with Principal Nezu. She should be back soon."

Her suspicion waned. He _did_ look very sickly. The weird mister shot her another smile as he walked around her. It was an appeasing sort of smile, one that silently apologized for his appearance, apologized that a young girl like her was seeing him in this state. His arms were so thin, and the bones in his wrists jutted out. The dark splotches on his shirt looked very much like blood.

Before she could think twice, Kizuna touched his arm. Once, very lightly. "Would you like me to look at your injury?"

He hesitated.

"Recovery Girl might've mentioned I'm also a healer." _And you have no idea how much I owe you, weird mister._

"Thank you, but I don't want to impose."

"Not at all. I have time before class."

He hesitated again, and Kizuna gestured for him to sit down. She didn't smile around strangers anymore, not unless she was trying to get something out of them. But Recovery Girl always treated all her patients with warmth. Kizuna lifted her mouth slightly, overly conscious of her fangs, trying to not smile too broadly or too little. _Fuck, I probably look constipated_.

The weird mister didn't seem bothered by constipated-face. Probably 'cause he was weird.

"Then… if you don't mind…" He sat back down and gingerly slipped off his shirt.

Her jaw worked, swallowing down a blood-curling shriek.

The wound on the side of his abdomen certainly wasn't what brought him to the hospital the other day. Nobody could recover from _that_ in the span of a day or two. It was an old wound: flesh twisting in warped waves, deep and concave, a hollow pit. An impact crater.

"A villain attack," the man said quietly. "From many years ago."

She calmly washed her hands in the sink, then pulled up Recovery Girl's normal chair. "My Quirk works through touch. Do you mind?"

"Please."

She felt along his abdomen, and flinched. _No, this… has to be wrong._ His stomach was… gone. How could it be? Her confusion transformed into horror as she reached deeper. Mold, growing over the phantom traces of countless surgeries. Mildew and ruin, a horrifying fragility of his bones being taped together and overworked on a daily basis.

Rot. Putrefaction.

He was dying. He was dying a long, slow death.

Emotion welled up in her eyes. Her hands were shaking, nauseous again.

"Let's stop here," he said gently. "Don't force yourself."

She recoiled at his kindness. Was the bar so low for her that this poor sickly man was showing her pity? With an internal _Fuck Th__at_, Kizuna steadied her hands. "This is nothing." _I'll show you how strong Yuuka's Quirk is._

There was a fire in him. A small, flickering thing. She couldn't give him a new stomach, but there were other problems she could temporarily solve. Muscle aches. Back pain. Poor blood circulation. Her brow furrowed in concentration, keeping the fire steady with her own light_._ His shoulders began lowering. A small sigh.

"I don't think All Might's a bad hero."

The man blinked at her.

"In the hospital…" Kizuna began haltingly, "it… sounded like you didn't like him very much. All Might, I mean."

The man set his hands in his lap. He tilted his head. He looked at the ceiling. "I suppose," he said, "I have great standards of great heroes."

She nodded. His words about failure, mistakes, getting knocked down, and rising again had stayed with her. "I understand, but you should try to see it from his point of view. All Might probably beats himself up every day thinking about what he could've done different." Her eyes drooped and she bit her lip. "…Must be hard living like that."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Perhaps you have a point. I'll try to be a little nicer to him."

The door opened.

"All—Kizuna-chan!" Recovery Girl exemplified her name by swiftly recovering from her shock.

"I bumped into Midoriya's trainer here," she said, waving. Beside her, the man looked embarrassed as he lifted his hand in greeting.

"You met an old friend of mine," said Recovery Girl, who for some reason was shaking her head at her injured visitor. Her eyes were so tiny, yet so capable of looking reproachful. "He's getting treatment here because his normal doctor is off for vacation. Isn't that right?"

"That's right!" he said quickly. "Please call me Yagi."

"Yagi-san…" Kizuna repeated, still gazing at his gaunt cheekbones in concern. "…Ah! I'm Yokoyama. Yokoyama Kizuna."

He smiled at her. "Yes. I remember."

Right, she introduced herself at the beach with Midoriya.

As he pulled on his shirt and gathered his things, Yagi explained to Recovery Girl that her young assistant had been kind enough to look at his wounds. He was feeling immensely better now, and gave them a hearty grin as he slid the door shut behind him.

Kizuna stared after him, still rattled by what she'd seen. He was such a nice man, and he had to deal with something so terrible. It was _frustrating_ as hell that she couldn't make it better. _No, maybe I have to keep studying… maybe Yuuka's Quirk can still fix him…_

"Kizuna-chan," said Recovery Girl.

She flinched. "He was sitting there, and—and he said you were in a meeting or something, and I thought I could help—did I do something wrong? I didn't mean to—hey, at least I didn't threaten anyone with a weapon, right? Ha ha—sorry—"

"You look tired." Recovery Girl cut off her babbling with a kind smile. "What did you feel?"

Kizuna took a deep breath. "Yagi-san… doesn't have much longer, does he?"

"…I see." She turned away. "Yes, I knew that. That's no surprise."

_An old friend,_ Kizuna thought. A light-brown hand reached out, taking the smaller, yellow-gloved hand into her own palm. "If you need me to heal him again, I will. As many times as you want."

Without saying a word, the old hero grasped her young mentee's hand and squeezed it.

_It's the least I can do_, Kizuna thought. _It's all I can do. I shouldn't have Yuuka's Quirk, but I have it._

Right as the bell that signaled the end of lunch rang, her eyes lit up as she remembered.

"Recovery Girl! I was looking for you 'cause I wanted to ask you something. This is going to sound weird, but… is there a Quirk that can… transfer Quirks to other people? Do you think something like that exists?"

She knew it was a silly question when Recovery Girl brushed it aside with a shake of her head and told her to get to class. Well, at least she got to meet the weird mister again and repay her debt from the hospital. Kizuna waved goodbye and headed back to 1-C, but if she had watched Recovery Girl a moment longer, she would've seen that warm smile turn strained.

* * *

"Depending on the results of the Sports Festival, they might consider transferring us to the Hero course. I understand the reverse is also possible for you."

She froze in the middle of battling through the sea of murmuring students. They were peering over each other's heads, standing on their tiptoes to catch a glimpse of 1-A. Even upperclassmen had come down to see the freshman kids who fought off the villains.

That purple hair wasn't hard to miss.

"For a General Studies kid like me," Shinsou was saying, facing the Hero classroom where Uraraka stood with a flustered gape, "this'll be the perfect chance to knock you off your pedestals. Consider this a declaration of _war_."

An involuntary shiver crawled up Kizuna's spine. Scratch not wanting a pissing contest. Shinsou was _scary_. (Said the same girl who busted up a car with a baseball bat.) If he'd spoken to her like that during their first tumultuous week together, Kizuna didn't even know what she'd do. Poor Uraraka. Poor Midoriya. Poor Iida. _I'll pray to the gods of Ezo for your souls._

Then 1-B came to the forefront, Tetsutetsu roaring a battle cry.

But in one swift line, Bakugou silenced them all: "I don't give a shit. I'm heading for the top."

As if by a magnet, her gaze was pulled over to the classroom door. His eyes, like blots of blood, met hers. They seemed to say, _come and get it._

Fuck that. She flipped him the bird and ran away with zero dignity.

Fingers snagged the back of Shinsou's sleeve, tugging him along with her. Kizuna squeezed out of the crowd, shaking her unruly hair out of her face with a huff, and looked back at her nonchalant captive.

"Man, you really know how to make an impression," she said.

Shinsou scratched his neck. "I'm just trying to keep up with you."

"What? You shouldn't. I'm already flunking Math."

"That's not what I—seriously?"

She realized she was still holding onto his sleeve, and let go. "No," she lied.

"Yokoyama—"

"Okay, god! You're too good at interrogating!" She covered her face in a fluster. "But I still have time to get my grades back up!"

"Yokoyama," he pulled her wrist down, unveiling a gaze that wasn't flustered at all, but intensely pink and wary, "you heard our class."

The two General Studies kids stood together at the end of the hall, as rumblings of the oncoming Sports Festival rose to a fever pitch in UA.

When Goro had announced that this was their chance to fight their way into the Hero course, 1-C had turned their heads in a single direction, looking at the sensible, levelheaded boy sitting near the front. Then, their gazes swung to the belligerent healer at the back of the class. _It's gotta be Shinsou_, they declared,_ and Yokoyama!_

* * *

_What a long week_. After healing those three seniors, Eraserhead, and Midoriya's Yagi-san, Kizuna was pooped.

Taking off her Nikes as she dragged herself inside, she was ready to take a long nap when her grandma told her to go to the storage shed. She found another box of Yuuka's old clothes in there, and they'd be donated after Kizuna claimed what she wanted.

Sneezing and batting away dust motes, she entered the shed. An unlabeled cardboard box was in the back—her grandma thought it was some old dinnerware and was looking for a lacquered tea set when she stumbled upon it. Most of Yuuka's clothes and things had been taken by the police department for their investigation, but they must've accidentally missed this one.

With a small laugh, Kizuna pulled out a dark green pleated skirt. Yuuka graduated eight years ago, but the uniform was still the same. It was even her size. She held it up to her hips and twirled around in the dimly lit shed, the skirt swishing around her legs.

Something hit Kizuna's foot. She looked down.

It had fallen out of the skirt's pocket: a black business card, dented and tattered.

She held it up to the slant of light coming in through the door. The word _GIRAN_ was inscribed on the front. On the back was a phone number, the black ink fading from years of age, and two kanji scrawled beneath it that spelled…

"Kuro…giri…"

_Little by little_, the shadows whispered. _One step at a time._

.

.

.

_what you seek is seeking you._

rumi

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.

**notes.** the usj incident was very different for the kids back in ua, but god there's still such a palpable fear during lockdowns because you don't know what the fuck is happening. it was fun imagining what 1-B and the other classes might do during a "villain attack". 1-B deserves to shine too, ya know!? (also, life tip: great way of making friends, get them through their stomachs. i would die for my baker friends.)

thanks for leavings comments! i need to start a hall of 'reviews that almost made me call 9-1-1', because i swear some of you are aiming for that. for example:

**akagami hime chan**: I loved her interactions with Bakugo, he's such a prissy little btch  
**oopsies**: speaking of kizuna - WOW. first off, she's great. second off, she's a mess. LOVE THAT.  
**Arkeisios: **theyre both trash but i am a fucking raccoon

immm fucknnng wheeeeezing ggg…

glossary

ainu

_yai_: calling for someone's attention  
_utari_: friend  
_iyohai_: 'oh, dear'  
_aiai paraparak wa an_: crybaby (literally 'a baby is wailing')  
_iwendep_: demon  
_konru-po_: little ice  
_ezo_: hokkaido  
_ekashi_: grandfather  
_mataki_: little sister  
_sapo_: older sister

japanese

_todai_: university of tokyo


	4. take me into orbit

**notes**. made a minor change to kizuna's quirk name. some of you might be asking "is everything a placeholder in this fic until razbliuto changes it?" and to that i say, "hummm…"

.

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**I CARRY YOUR HEART**

TAKE ME INTO ORBIT

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_Google search entry: [ GIRAN ]_

The fifth link down led to article about a small-time criminal with that very name, Giran. Fifteen years ago, he was arrested for petty theft. _What the fuck?_ A criminal's business card? Why would Yuuka have… was it a hint? A clue about her death, and What Happened? She Googled Kurogiri next, but that only brought up images of dark clouds and foggy nights.

Pacing around her room, Kizuna entered the string of numbers in her phone. Her hands were shaking so hard she almost dropped it.

She was about to press call when Yuuka clicked her tongue and said, "Come on, you're smarter than that."

Her thumb hovered over the dial button. She closed her phone, then shoved on a plain white sweater and Yuuka's Nikes.

She went on a jog and found a packed convenience store in a busy area of the city. It was early evening, and people were stopping by after work and school to buy quick dinners. With a Fatgum hat over her white hair and a hood pulled over the hat, she walked around the crowd to the payphone, dialed the number on the business card, and held her breath as the phone rang.

"…_the number you have dialed no longer exists._"

"Are you fucking kidding me," she muttered, hanging up roughly.

She braced herself against the payphone, her mind racing with possible thoughts. Should she go to the police with this? But what good would that do? It's not like they came up with anything in three fucking years. As though this stupid little piece of card stock would help.

She clenched the business card in her fist, adrenaline and frustration leaving her fingers clammy. She was so desperate for answers it was making her crazy. Yuuka must've worked on a case that involved Giran when she was in UA. She had stuck a business card she found in her skirt, then forgot about it… and the phone number was just… a random number.

Of course. It was so simple.

Kizuna rubbed her face. What a waste of time.

She left the convenience store with her head bent low. Remerging outside, the city air smelled like construction and grease from a takoyaki stand. Airplanes burned contrails through the lavender-lilac sky. The street was crowded with pedestrians, people talking on their phones, people heading out for dinner in swishing skirts and bare sleeves to greet the April warmth. Horns honked and neon billboards shimmered.

She walked instead of jogged, feeling drained now compared to her earlier excitement. Kizuna moved through the crowd, hat pulled over her eyes, as the traffic light at the intersection blinked crimson and a mass of Tokyoites surged onto the crossing.

In the middle of the crosswalk, her white-sleeved elbow smacked against a black jacket. Her phone slipped out of her hand.

She stumbled back, swearing under her breath.

Red eyes.

Pale blue hair hung in greasy clumps around his sallow face. A jacket, the hood pulled up over his head like her, was zipped up to his neck. Tall and lanky under loose black clothes. He looked sickly. Colorless.

_A grey man_, Kizuna thought.

He hardly moved when she bumped into him, only swaying slightly. His gaze drifted from her pink eyes peering under the brim of a Fatgum baseball hat, to her sharp canines, to Yuuka's old Air Force 1's on her feet.

He took a step forward and she leaned back, reaching for the switchblade in her pocket.

But he was only bending down. Bracing a knee on the asphalt, he picked up her phone.

It was hard to guess his age—he might've been a few years to a few decades older than her. She was leaning towards younger, judging by his choice of shoes. Red sneakers with no socks were a young man's game, even if he had all those wrinkles around his eyes.

The grey man straightened up, carefully flicking dirt off her phone, and held it out at her. He held it a funny way—only using his thumb, index, and middle finger, the last two fingers lifted up. As if her phone, with its pastel purple case and multitude of stickers, was a bomb.

As the pedestrian scramble moved around them like a hazy river current, the billboards shimmering in the background, the lights from the traffic like an out-of-focus chromatic aberration, he stared down at her without blinking.

Kizuna jolted, remembering how to behave like a normal person. She quickly accepted her phone. "Thanks. Sorry 'bout that."

She crammed it into her sweatpants, feeling like an idiot for jumping to conclusions again. She stepped around him, about to keep walking.

"Um," Kizuna added, and he turned that inscrutable look back on her. "Cool shoes. I like 'em."

His red gaze glanced down again at Yuuka's AF-1's. "I like yours," he rasped quietly. "All for Ones."

"Air Force," she corrected. "Nikes."

But the black hooded jacket had already disappeared into the crowd.

Three more seconds until the light turned green. Kizuna hurried to the other side before she could get honked at.

Red eyes. What was it about red eyes that made her feel so… she shivered, even though she was wearing a sweater and the spring evening was plenty warm. Her mouth tasted like fries. Crunchy, oily fries.

As she walked—keeping a proper eye on the street this time—she dialed another number on her phone.

"_Giran? Kurogiri?_" On the other end, she could practically hear Ekashi scratching his beard. "_K'eraye. The hell's that, a rock band?_"

"Yuuka never mentioned them?"

"_Shit, don't think so. Don't remember. Same difference. Wakka ooitak ukoiram a?_"

Kizuna gasped. "Of course I wanna talk to my boy!"

Wakka's cheerful bork-bork-bork must've been a good-luck charm, because she didn't have any more run-ins with weird guys on her way home.

Lying in bed, she flipped the business card between her hands. Round and round it went. Giran. Kurogiri. _Do you know what happened? Did you kill Yuuka? _She slipped a hand up her shirt and traced her fingers up the long vertical scar over her heart._ Did you do this to me?_

She exhaled, letting the card fall on her face.

Kizuna hid it between the pages of Yuuka's old medical textbook, in case she needed it in the future, and then fell into an uneasy sleep. She dreamed of heavy mist, a moonless night, and her big sister, watching her from somewhere in the darkness with an inscrutable smile.

* * *

Kizuna pushed a cart through a grocery aisle, picking up three packages of fresh mackerel. Her grandmother, the army commander, wanted to make bamboo rice with fish for lunch, and she, the foot soldier, had been sent on a mission to collect ingredients.

Scallions, ginger, more cooking sake…

Throwing them in her cart, she looked up right as a fully-grown man, standing on the bottom rack of his cart and leaning over the handle bar, rolled through the aisles. He was followed by a boy who looked like a younger, more rigid version of him, with the same sharp eyebrows and metal engines.

She caught up to them in the fresh produce section. "Iida boys!"

The brothers turned at the same time.

Tensei stepped off the shopping cart with an enthusiastic, "Kizuna! How's it going?"

"Yokoyama," Tenya greeted, his hands twitching in a semblance of a wave.

It never failed to impress Kizuna how much they looked alike, even though their personalities were so different. The Iidas were a tall family; Tenya was nearly Tensei's height, and the only thing that separated them was a lack of glasses, and perhaps a few inches of shoulder-span. They were wearing running clothes, their sweats rolled up over their calves. Their cart was filled with grapefruit and orange juice; fuel for their engines. They must've just gotten back from a run together.

"What a rare delight, bumping into the Iida brothers," Kizuna simpered in a voice those unacquainted with her would mistakenly call sweet. "Shall we investigate the root vegetables together?"

"It would be our honor." Tensei ushered the young girl between rows of potatoes like a gallant knight.

"Ingenium, you're so cool," Kizuna gushed, clasping her hands together as she swooned. Then she looked over at her shoulder at Tenya with a fanged smile that made the onions tremble in their crates. "So… did Tenya-kun mention the USJ incident?"

"Of course! It's no surprise he was able to fight through all those villains!" With an easygoing chuckle, Tensei said with full confidence, "Tenya's going to be a great hero."

"This needless flattery is unbecoming," Tenya said tersely, adjusting his glasses as an excuse to hide his face.

Kizuna leaned over to Tensei with a conspiratorial eyebrow-wiggle. "You should've seen how fast he was going, rounding up all those teachers."

The Pro Hero made a noise of awe. His brother hacked loudly into a crate of carrots.

"He'll outrun you one day, Tensei-san," she said cheerily, ignoring the extended hacking now going on by the turnips.

"I know he will." Tensei pulled his little brother over, ruffling his blue-black hair and upsetting his glasses. "This kid is going places. And I can't wait to watch."

There were few things that embarrassed Iida Tenya, who had an astonishing lack of shame. But it was no secret that he had a weakness when it came to impressing his very impressive older brother. He straightened out his jacket with a flustered sigh, pushing his glasses back onto his nose, and shot Kizuna a look of consternation.

"What? I like bragging about my friends."

"I'll let it slide." Somehow, even the pink on his cheeks was square-shaped. "Just for today."

Kizuna hummed, reaching for the bamboo shoots.

"Aizawa-sensei," he began, and she looked up. "Thank you for helping him." A small grin lifted Tenya's mouth. "When I get the chance, I'll make sure to brag about you to Tutari."

He walked back to his brother, and they went to the checkout stations with their cart full of fruit juice.

While Tenya's strictness came from the heavy burden of expectations, his older brother had such a friendly, relaxed demeanor. It must've come from having lived through those expectations and emerging on the other side a beloved Pro Hero. Kizuna tried to imagine a day when Tenya might smile in that same relaxed way.

…Nah. Impossible. What would Tensei do, _not_ ruffle his little brother's head and tell him to lighten up? They were opposites that belonged together, like breakfast for dinner, like cookies and milk, like Yuuka's jokes and Kizuna's snarky replies.

"They're good siblings," she murmured.

"They are," Yuuka agreed fondly, leaning her elbows on the shopping cart, long white hair fanning over her shoulders. "Hey, eat some of that spicy chicken ramen for me. You know, the Korean one. I miss it."

"Oh, hell no. I'll be shittin' fire for two days."

"That's how you know you're really alive, mataki. I'm salivating."

The girl snorted, pushing her cart along and shaking her head at the empty air.

* * *

A certain bookstore in the Ebisu district of Shibuya was a popular spot among high schoolers and college students looking for a cozy, quiet place to study. At the back was a lounge with tables, power outlets, and a small coffee shop where one could armor oneself with caffeine. Noon on a Sunday was a crowded time for the bookstore, and it was filled with students adjusting their wings or horns as they got comfortable for a long study session.

In the corner of the lounge, a girl with short, unruly white hair was hunched over a textbook. She had on baggy black jeans, tightened with a belt, and a pink shirt that'd been scissored off at her midriff. Mauve-painted fingernails tapped against a cup of cold brew. White Nikes were, naturally, laced on her feet.

She glanced up as the chair across from her was pulled out.

"Thank goodness there's coffee." Momo sat down with a hot latte in one hand and her bag in the other. Her hair was pulled into its signature spiked ponytail, and she looked stylish in a loose silk shirt and pleated shorts. "The Starbucks down the street is closed for renovation."

"Thanks for meeting me," Kizuna said gratefully, pushing her hands through her hair in defeat. "Who invented cellular respiration? I'm gonna arrest them for aggravated assault."

Momo cheerfully replied that biology was her strong suit, and she'd beat it into Kizuna's head before the day was over.

They went through the textbook, discussing homework problems. The lounge was filled with murmuring voices as friends studied together, books flipped, spoons clinked on the side of mugs. Two girls with coffees in their hands looked around for an empty table. They caught Kizuna's eye; one had an orange ponytail, the other had wavy dark green hair.

Momo followed her gaze and wondered, "Aren't they from 1-B…?"

The girls spotted them, and tentatively came over to ask if they could sit at their table. Kizuna dragged two empty chairs over.

"The Starbucks down the street is closed for renovation," said Itsuka, sitting down.

The 1-B girls just as fashionable as Momo in their cute, breezy dresses and high-top sneakers. Kizuna tried not to look down at her ratty shirt. There was a fine line between her pastel scum aesthetic, and a troll. Optimistically speaking, she was balancing very hard on that line right now…

"A Yaoyorozu," Setsuna noted, grinning her shark grin.

"A Tokage, aren't you?" Momo recognized.

Itsuka sighed to Kizuna, "Jeez, Hero families—oh, crap, I forgot you're also one of them."

"I'm on your side; we're very annoying," Kizuna assured, clearing a bit of the table for the other girls to put their books down.

Seeing as how 1-A, 1-B, and 1-C were gathered together, Momo eagerly suggested exchanging notes from their lessons to compare what they were learning.

The academics of the Hero and General were exactly the same when it came to Math, Literature, and the sciences. As expected, Hero Studies had a physical component that took up a good chunk of their workload. However, when Kizuna showed them her notebook, they were surprised to learn that General Studies had required classes in Street Law and Government, which talked extensively about civil justice, human rights, and Quirk laws.

"How fascinating," Momo gasped, sounding envious. "Is this what you're reading for class? Debates on the Jurisprudence of Villainy?"

Kizuna nodded. "It's about defense attorneys who argue on the behalf of criminals. Because, um, obviously, lawyers have to defend the guilty." She rubbed her knees, hoping this didn't sound weird to the heroes-in-training. "'Cause it's, like, not a matter of innocence, but what punishment they deserve. For a boring title, it's a good book."

"Ehhh?" said Setsuna. "That's cool. Why haven't we learned anything like that?"

"We should have a Government class during our second term," said Itsuka. "Lot of General seniors get into Todai, don't they?"

"Yes," Momo answered for Kizuna, keen to show off her knowledge. "For their law and medicine schools, they practically select right from UA's General Studies."

"Don't regret attending the Hero course, Yaoyorozu," snickered Setsuna, noticing Momo's hungry look.

"N-no! Of course not!"

Kizuna thought back to Hado Nejire's girlfriend, Yuyu. If she were to graduate from the University of Tokyo as an attorney, she'd be setting herself up for a good life…

Then she noticed the other girls looking expectantly at her, as if waiting for her to declare her university goals. Ideally, the Hero girls would become Pros when they graduated. Kizuna, on the other hand, still had the option of attending higher education. Her stomach churned.

…_But it's way too early to think about this! Damn UA and their overachieving students!_

"Uh…" Kizuna said, sweating. "If I'm able to get a job in a gas station when I graduate, I'll call that a success…"

"There's a time and a place for false modesty, Yokoyama," Itsuka retorted.

She sweated harder. "No… well… you haven't seen my grades…"

Kizuna was saved from having to show them her graded Math homework from last week, because right then Momo's eyes lit up as she recognized two faces among the teenagers walking around the lounge. She waved them over.

Uraraka Ochako and Asui Tsuyu appeared with textbooks and coffees.

"The Starbucks down the street," Uraraka began—

"Is closed for renovation," the other girls sang back.

"Does this study party have space for two more?" Tsuyu asked, as Uraraka peered around for an empty table.

Kizuna stood, asked another study group if they were using their two spare chairs, and lugged them both back to her table. They shuffled their books, clearing space for the new girls to join. Uraraka and Tsuyu introduced themselves to Setsuna and Itsuka, who pulled the table out from the corner and moved their chairs around it, so they had room to squeeze in.

Kizuna drew her legs up, feet on the chair and her notebook in her lap, biting lightly on the end of her pen. Uraraka's cheeks puffed up as she read her textbook, determined not to fall behind.

It was so funny-looking that she doodled Uraraka in her notebook. Her short bobbed hair and flushed cheeks, the oversized yellow Ryukyu t-shirt she wore. Tsuyu was next. Her dark, round eyes with pronounced lower eyelashes, her wide mouth. Then Itsuka and her long side-ponytail…

Kizuna barely felt her head slipping onto her shoulder, bangs falling over her closing eyes…

A finger poked her nose.

"Bwah?"

"Don't _sleep_," Momo tutted. "Focus!"

Kizuna bit her lip, shrinking down as the table of studious Hero girls giggled at her. "Sorry."

"There's this super cute café nearby," Setsuna said, about two hours later. "You guys hungry?"

Kizuna's eyes flicked over her book, then glanced back down. The other girls voiced their approval and began packing their books up.

She kept writing in her notebook. They wanted to go by themselves, she reasoned… the Hero girls wanted time alone to talk to each other about Hero stuff… She glanced up only when she saw that the other five shadows hadn't left the table.

"You're not coming with us, Kizuna-chan?" asked Tsuyu. They were all waiting for her to stand.

"Oh," Kizuna said in surprise, scratching her cheek. "Um."

The occupants of the next table over stood up to leave, and Yuuka sat there as the table emptied, sipping her coffee with a smile. "How long has it been since you hung out with girls your age?" her big sister said. "Just be normal, mataki. You'll be fine."

She swallowed, then dumped all her things into her backpack.

* * *

When Kizuna was fourteen, she Googled herself. It was possibly the worst mistake of her life.

Her grandparents chose a particularly unflattering photo of her to put on the news, which was to say it was an exact photo of how she looked when she was twelve. Wavy black hair down to her waist, her face dotted with pimples, an awkward, thin-lipped smile to hide her fangs.

She scrolled through social media, running a hand over the grey fuzz on her head. A lot of the comments were nice. There were a few weird ones. Some questioned if she even existed at all. Others promoted conspiracy theories that she was taken by the government. Or aliens. The internet was bonkers.

And then there were the jokes.

_idk if a villain took her, like why wouldn't they choose a cool family of heroes to threaten,_ said one.

_it ain't that deep, _said another._ she went crazy and hung herself in the mountains. case closed._

_she's got the sort of face guys are scared of getting a love confession from_, said a third.

They were meaningless insults, which meant, naturally, she stayed up all night reading them over and over. The storm had passed, of course, as it always did with the twenty-four-hour news cycle. But she never wanted to be so much as looked at now. She wanted to be left alone and forgotten.

* * *

"The raspberry parfait looks good." Uraraka licked her lips, sighed, then shook her head. "I'll just take a glass of water."

The group of six congressed around two tables pushed together. Fairy lights were strewn around the industrial chic walls and mason jars were filled with decorative sweets; the trendy little spot lured in teenagers and young adults like the light of an anglerfish in the deep sea.

Kizuna hadn't been in a café in a very long time. It felt like a ritual she had lost touch with, watching the girls pass menus to each other, talking about hungry they were, how everything looked so good. Setsuna was gushing over the adorable drinks, and Momo ordered honey toast. Kizuna sat next to Itsuka on one side and Uraraka on the other, which meant she had the perfect view of Uraraka's blue expression.

"Garlic fries and two raspberry parfaits, please." Kizuna handed the menu back at the waitress. She nodded at Uraraka. "I'll spot you."

She began vehemently protesting.

The healer wasn't having it. "I already ordered, so you can either drink it or let it go to waste."

"Kizuna-chan, you're from a rich Hero family like Momo-chan, right?" Tsuyu asked, and Uraraka's eyes popped wide.

That wasn't wrong. But the Yokoyamas didn't give her an allowance; they were old-money types who valued hard work and discretion, and they would sooner disown their grandchildren than let them be brand-chasing freeloaders. Everything she bought was thanks to Yuuka's life insurance money.

_But I don't feel like explaining that._ "Yeah. So don't sweat it, okay?"

"I-i-if you insist!" Uraraka said. "Thank you!"

Their orders came, filling the table up with pastries, steaming omelets, fries, and parfaits. The girls took a moment to appreciate the stunning craftsmanship. Once they took their first delectable bite, obeying an ancient custom of eating with friends, the girls scooted plates over and offered each other bites to compare.

"Delicious," Uraraka gasped, sneaking a taste of her garlic fries. She beamed at Kizuna. "Yokoyama, you're so nice!"

Kizuna grinned. Then she excused herself to go to the bathroom, and sat on the toilet, head in her hands, forcing back a tidal wave of grief. _Thanks for treating us, Yuuka. You're still taking care of me._

"_Aiai paraparak wa an_," said a voice from the other stall, and Kizuna laughed thickly as she wiped her eyes.

When she returned to the table, her eyes bone-dry, the conversation had veered to the Sports Festival.

"You've gotten a lot of attention after the USJ incident," Itsuka was saying to Momo with a challenging grin. "But 1-B has our own plan."

"Another declaration of war, is it?" said Tsuyu.

"We'll fight with everything we've got!" Uraraka huffed.

_Ooo, a showdown?_ Kizuna watched, munching on her fries.

"What do you think, Yokoyama?" Setsuna asked suddenly, turning towards her.

Pink eyes blinked. "I think," she said with grave solemnity, "1-C is gonna kick your asses."

The table of girls made a loud _oooooh!_ at her fighting words. Heads in the café glanced around at the commotion. The Hero girls quieted, giggling.

"Well, I was just thinking," Setsuna said in a casual voice that implied anything but. "Recovery Girl's Quirk only works so fast. Imagine winning a match but losing the next one because you're too wounded." A beat. "It'd be nice to have a healer on our side."

Something sparked in the air between the 1-A and 1-B girls. Forming battle plans and building alliances weren't only for war generals in the pre-Quirk centuries. Momo glanced at Setsuna, who eyed Itsuka, who squinted at Uraraka, who looked in confusion at Tsuyu, who sipped her soda. Kizuna continued stuffing her fries into her mouth.

"I hardly think this is appropriate," Momo said with a delicate cough.

"How so?" Itsuka replied nonchalantly.

"Well," Momo shook her head with a friendly smile, "Kizuna and I happen to be old friends."

"Yokoyama, have you visited our married uncles lately?" Setsuna asked.

"No," Kizuna said through a mouthful of fries. "Don't they live in Hawaii?"

"Hawaii! _H-how sunshine!_" Uraraka gasped in English.

Ignoring the other girls, Setsuna leaned over the table, smirking at Momo. "You know, we're technically family."

"As if the homo sapiens species aren't all related if we go back far enough," Momo shot back.

As cute as listening to these girls fight over Yuuka's Quirk was, Kizuna supposed she should put a stop to it. She licked her spoon and waggled it. "Healers shouldn't play favorites. We're neutral. Like Switzerland. Anyway, I might just stay in the infirmary. Get out of participating with a doctor's note or something."

She was going to add, _unless you all bribe me with gifts _with a wink-wink, but her announcement was greeted with smiles.

"Good idea! If you don't fight, then you'll have lots of energy to heal us!"

"Yay," Kizuna said into her parfait, thinking of all the granola bars and energy drinks she had to stock up on.

* * *

They parted ways outside of the café, heading to various subway stations. A competitive spirit had blossomed over honey toast and parfaits, and Itsuka and Setsuna told the 1-A girls they looked forward to fighting against them in the Sports Festival.

Kizuna stopped Momo before she could head off, asking her for a small favor. Momo's eyes widened as she listened. Then she nodded, assuring Kizuna she'd get back to her with some answers.

Kizuna was about to head off when she saw that Uraraka was still standing on the sidewalk. She was nervously leafing through her wallet. Supermarket coupons fluttered out. She laughed awkwardly when Kizuna asked her what was wrong, and admitted she must've dropped her subway card somewhere.

"Where do you live?"

"It's not that far. I just need two hundred yen to get back…" She looked down at the coins in her hand and sighed. "Guess I'll walk."

"If it's not far, I can give you a lift. I parked my scooter down the block."

After several minutes of flustered insistence that she could walk, Kizuna managed to drag all five feet of Uraraka onto the back of her Vespa. She passed her helmet over and helped her buckle it on.

"Wait, Yokoyama, where's your helme—"

"Hang on!"

Checking the light traffic behind her, Kizuna revved the engine and the sky-blue Vespa drove off into the street. Uraraka wrapped her arms tight around her stomach, yelping into the older girl's shoulder.

The corner of her mouth twitched in a fanged grin. The wind picked up, blowing her white hair back. The stoplight turned green before she even tapped the brake to slow down. The next street over did the same. Green all the way, baby. Today was a good day.

"The next light, make a left!" Uraraka called, and instinctively counterbalanced as they rounded the corner.

Kizuna straightened out her scooter, the angle of the street tilting back up. Uraraka began to ease into it, and gave a cheerful _whoo!_ as Kizuna weaved around the traffic, speeding up. Streetlights and shop windows blurred past them. If she didn't need her hands on the handlebars to steer, she would've spread her arms wide, relishing the way the wind rippled her shirt, shivered through her hair.

She reluctantly slowed down at a red light, stopping next to a silver lowrider with souped-up wheels. Kizuna eyed it. _Bitchin' Cadillac._

The window rolled down. Two middle-aged men peered out, smoking cigarettes. They smiled when they noticed the girl admiring their car.

"How old are you ladies?" the driver called.

She leaned back. _Yuck._

Behind her, Uraraka shouted, "Older than your disappointed mothers!"

Kizuna snorted, surprised by the plucky retort. She glanced over her shoulder. Uraraka's cheeks were indignantly rosy as she scowled.

The driver leaned out with a leer, perhaps about to tell them to stop being so rude to a couple of polite gentleman, when the road blasted open and threw the Cadillac straight up into the sky.

The road crunched, flinging chunks of asphalt everywhere. Oncoming traffic at the intersection braked suddenly, but before they could crash into each other, wooden tree branches shaped like nets buffered the impact. A shadow fell over everything as Mt. Lady, stretched up over the buildings, grabbed the Cadillac before it could fall.

Uraraka shrieked. Kizuna gassed her Vespa on instinct. In the rear-view mirror, Kamui Woods landed a hit on a villain that had just exploded from the ground.

She careened around an overturned truck, the engine of her scooter screaming. Her reflexes kicked in, navigating through the tumult, turning sharply as cars blared their horns and braked, the drivers running out before they could get hit by debris. She thought she made it through the worst of it when the road suddenly gave a great rumble and started to collapse.

_This is it,_ she thought blankly, barreling full speed ahead because it was too late to slow down, _this is the end—_

The world tilted. She felt herself moving through the air, as though flipping over, but the impact never came.

Her eyes opened.

Kizuna floated upside-down, suspended over the neighborhood block where Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods battled a rampaging villain. She was still gripping her Vespa's handlebars, which was also floating. Weightless in the sky.

"Made it," Uraraka breathed in relief.

Kizuna's heart pumped, all the blood rushing to her head.

The wind reversed.

(_a heaviness lifting—floating upwards, skybound, the relentless weight of the earth falling away, hovering above candyfloss clouds like a celestial object, compassion and compassion and compassion, i will fill you with stars and light_—)

"What's happening!?" Uraraka cried over the roar of the wind.

Kizuna wrenched herself from the depths of the Uraraka Ochako. She looked down. _Shit._

Uraraka's hands were tight around her belly, brushing the skin of her middle beneath her cropped shirt. White lightning crackled around their skin, boosting her Zero Gravity Quirk, shooting them up into the atmosphere. They flew past radio towers; they flew past flocks of birds—

_Turn off! Turn off, you piece of shit Quirk!_ Kizuna couldn't tell up from down, earth from sky; she could only feel the hungry jolts firing from the tips of her nerves. Exalt was going haywire, like a bloodhound smelling fresh meat for the first time in years, bashing its head through the cage, tearing its leash from its owner's hand.

(_we will raise mountains together_, it whispered lovingly to zero gravity, _we will lift islands into the sky_)

_Shut up shut up shut up!_ It was ice-cold, it was _freezing_, and her ears popped twice from the pressure change. Kizuna's eyes were watering from the wind, and she choked out, "Uraraka! Turn your Quirk off!"

"B-b-b-but we'll fall!"

"_Please! We'll be shot into space!_"

They soared up like a miniature rocket, spinning higher and higher, and the Vespa rolled on its side. Kizuna flinched at the sudden burst of light, low and bright, and she gazed out through the white strands whipping about her face. Her mouth parted. She felt electrocuted, as though she just touched a live wire to water, shivering down to her fingertips and almost forgetting to hang onto her much-abused scooter.

The snowy peak of Mt. Fuji appeared over the endless sea of clouds, silhouetted by the sunset. The tallest mound of dirt in all of Japan. The highest point in the entire land. It was so quiet up here—quiet maybe because it was too cold to scream, or maybe quiet like something mystical. _Take me into orbit_, Exalt breathed.

She inhaled. She filled her lungs with air from the roof of the world.

"_Skill release_!" Uraraka pressed the tips of her shivering fingers together, then grabbed onto Kizuna.

The Vespa crested at the arc, gravity catching up to it, two girls hanging on for dear life.

Then, they fell.

"Turn your Quirk on when we get close to the ground!" Kizuna shouted, her eyes tearing up at the speed of their descent.

"What!?"

"And don't touch my skin!"

"That's your plan!?"

"A plan!? What makes you think I have a plan!?"

On the highways of Tokyo, the observant eye would've noticed a distant speck falling from the sky. Those living out in the suburbs would've pressed their faces to their windows, watching two girls screaming on the back of a flying Vespa.

Right as they were about to crash-land, Uraraka touched Kizuna, herself, and the scooter. She hugged the healer over her shirt, making sure not to brush her skin. Somehow, miraculously, they weren't about to land onto a house or a busy freeway. They floated over a field and Uraraka released her Quirk.

The wheels hit the ground with a _thump_.

Kizuna let the scooter fall over and staggered off. She toppled face-first onto sweet, merciful earth. Uraraka sprawled over the grass.

A silence, long and stunned.

"That," Uraraka whispered reverently, one hand stretched up to the sky, "was the highest I've ever gone."

Kizuna turned her head to stare at her profile.

"Me too," she said.

The laughter came slowly, then all at once. They rolled around, laughing their heads off in the empty field.

Kizuna flopped on her back, gasping, her white hair spreading out in a disheveled mess. She heard Uraraka catching her breath beside her, and they rubbed their arms, warming themselves. The early evening sky was velvet-blue. In the distance, an airplane was taking off. Dots of lights moved across the clouds.

Yuuka's heart thumped _one-two, one-two_.

"I'm sorry," Kizuna mumbled. "That was my fault. It's… it's part of my Quirk. One part heals people and the second… makes people stronger. I'm not very good at controlling it… yet."

Healing and buffing were pretty similar. They fell under the same family tree, as far as Quirks went. It wasn't a stretch.

Uraraka's eyes went wide and she nodded slowly, pulling grass out of her hair.

As exhausted as Kizuna was, there was still a feeling of deep satisfaction in her bones, like she'd just eaten a scrumptious meal. She felt sickened by it, at this sensation of tired, happy pleasure she couldn't help but feel. The center of her palm flickered with Exalt's white lightning. It was like a blind, hungry eel scavenging for food, sniffing for Zero Gravity. She clenched her fist, eyes narrowed, biting into her lip. _You're… a parasite. So_ _gross_.

"Can you… keep this a secret?" she tentatively asked. "I don't like using this part of my Quirk."

"I'll take it to my grave!" Uraraka said without hesitation. "I promise!"

Kizuna gave a tiny grin in response.

Then she looked around at the field of grass they had landed in. Small residential houses and trees stood along the side of the road. The main street was further up ahead, rumbling with sounds of the occasional car passing by. When she wondered aloud if they were still in Tokyo, Uraraka abashedly showed Kizuna her flip-phone. No internet.

"Vintage. Cool." She looked down as her maps app loaded. "Huh, we're in Kawaguchi. Shit. It's about a half-hour drive back. We should get going." She gave her Vespa a light kick, and the engine sputtered weakly. "…Alright, it might take longer than half an hour."

She wondered how busy Hatsume Mei was these days…

Uraraka picked herself up, wincing. She was clutching her left wrist. Kizuna did what all good healers do, and when Uraraka finished admiring her healed wrist, she said, "You're hurt, too."

"Yeah…" Kizuna gingerly rolled her torn jeans up and investigated her scraped knees. They stung like a motherfucker. "I can't heal myself. It only works on others. I'm like a human battery."

"Nope!" With a twirling flair, Uraraka pointed straight at her. Right between the eyes. "You're a protective talisman!"

Her face scrunched up in embarrassment, pupils dilating enormously. "Hold on. _No_."

"Yes!"

"I am not! I almost killed us!"

Uraraka flashed her a luminous, cheeky grin. "Details, baby, details!"

* * *

As they walked her beat-up Vespa on the side of the road, taking turns holding their thumbs out, Ochako talked about her family's construction company. She wanted to be a hero, she admitted, in order to give her parents a comfortable life. _And one day_, she added, her honey-brown eyes gleaming, _I'm gonna send them on a vacation to Hawaii._

Ochako had one of the kindest Quirks she'd ever felt. It was filled with starlight.

"Ochako," Kizuna said, and the other girl blinked at the sudden familiarity. She smiled, fangs bright. "I'd love to be your future sidekick, if you'll have me."

The suggestion was followed by a gasp and flustered, whole-hearted approval.

If life was like line that curved upwards and downwards at random intervals, things were finally an upwards trend for her. And she used to think it was so impossible.

A small truck carrying bags of rice came rumbling down the street. Listening to a news report about Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods securing a villain in Shibuya, the truck driver slowed to a stop, rolling down the window. He blinked at the two high schoolers standing on the road with their thumbs sticking out. The cute brown-haired girl waved. The taller, rough-looking girl braced a hand along the side of his window, and with a pastel glare that warned _don't you dare try anything funny_, said, "Wanna give us a lift, mister?"

* * *

It seemed like the whole school was talking about the fight between Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods against a villain in Shibuya. Even Yagi, who came by for a healing session after school, asked if Kizuna was alright when he heard that she'd almost been flattened in the attack.

Kizuna had an inkling of suspicion when it came to Midoriya's mentor. Everything about him screamed 'retired Pro Hero'. When Recovery Girl's pen rolled off her desk, he had caught it with superb reflexes. His skinny arms were emaciated, but the pads of his fingers were rough and callused. He had the hands of a physical worker. Also, his joints were supremely fucked-up, and he wasn't even that old—around his forties or early fifties. His chronic pain—stiff ankles, bad knees, bad back—was the most obvious sign.

But there was also something deeper that tugged at Kizuna's gut instincts. He walked with his shoulders hunched up, his head hanging low, balanced precariously on that long, thin neck. But she glimpsed flashes of… _something_ in his jaw, when he tilted his gaunt face up. At a certain angle, when he smiled.

And when Yagi straightened his shoulders.

That simple action drew her eye, made her feel like she'd seen it a hundred times before. It was massively familiar. She didn't know how to explain it.

That must be how Yagi knew Recovery Girl; they'd once been heroes working together. And crafty Midoriya Izuku, he'd gotten himself a legit Pro Hero to train him… _I underestimated that kid… good going, Midoriya…_

But the weirdest thing of all was: when she asked Recovery Girl about Yagi's hero name without any preamble (because he _was_ a retired hero, surely), the old woman gave her a long look, then brushed it off with a mild smile and a, "Hero? That man? Come now, the infirmary beds need changing."

A hero with long blond hair and sunken blue eyes… Kizuna spun around in the infirmary's spinny chair, trying to put a name to a face like that. She was so befuddled, and she voiced it out loud, "_Iyotta eramu-usausak_," as though it might help jog her memory, but it didn't. Was she overthinking things? Maybe…

Recovery Girl clapped her small hands together. "Let's talk about the Sports Festival, Kizuna-chan."

She perked up, sliding her chair over.

"Your participation is your own choice to make, but I want you to understand the risk of it."

"The risks?"

"The risk of being seen on national television." A shadow crossed Recovery Girl's kind expression. "I'm not trying to scare you or cause you undue stress, but please consider not joining the Sports Festival for your own safety. Whatever villain… hurt Tutari and hurt you, they might…"

"Come back to finish the job?" Kizuna suggested.

"To put it bluntly." Recovery Girl was hardly a woman who was prone to hesitation. But here she was, the slight pauses between her words speaking volumes, looking at Kizuna with trepidation.

"I was actually thinking about not participating," she admitted. "You'll need me in the infirmary, anyway."

"I see! Yes, well, in that case…"

"But. Isn't this supposed to be my chance to get into the Hero course?"

"There'll be more opportunities in the future. The hero teachers are keeping an eye on you." Recovery Girl gave her a reassuring pat. "My advice is to wait for a chance that isn't nationally-televised."

"Yeah," Kizuna mumbled. "I guess."

She'd just wait another year… another year before she could get her Provisional Hero License… another year before she could support heroes on the line of duty…

Maybe it was for the best. After graduating, Yuuka began looking at UA's Sports Festival in distaste. Comparing it to gladiatorial combat. A spectator sport where teenagers injured themselves on live television, bleeding for an eager crowd. Come to think of it, Yuuka was once openly critical of UA. She used to say they weren't teaching their students right, and that more heroes than ever were dying as they chased fame and popularity.

But that was one facet of having a healing Quirk. Yuuka knew first-hand of all the injuries, deaths, and defeats because she was the one they called to help fix things. It must've been painful. Kizuna tried not to dwell on it. It made her too sad, thinking about how her big sister had never wholly loved her own Quirk, either.

* * *

She was still lost in thought as Shinsou aimed a punch at her.

Then, he landed on the grass with a grunt.

She had tapped his punch, deflecting it, then grabbed his wrist and forced him to the ground, Fatgum-style. Now Kizuna had his arm locked behind him as she sat on his back.

"Hey, Shinsou, your hand's pretty smooth." It was larger than hers and kinda bony, a guy's hand, but it had none of the calluses she'd glimpsed on Iida or Midoriya… or Yagi's, even. Kizuna experimentally bent his middle finger back—not too far, of course—and he swore, pinning a rather villainous glare on her over his shoulder. She pushed a lock of white behind her ear and teased, "Don't regret asking me to help you practice, _moma-po_."

"What'd you call me?"

She snickered and slid off his back. "May you grow up to be a big plum tree, little plum."

They were mock-fighting on the PE field after school. General Studies didn't have access to the state-of-the-art gyms of the Hero course, so they had to make do with grass turf.

Kizuna showed him how to keep his feet alive the way Fatgum taught her. When she deflected his punch, his feet had remained still, which made him easy to take down. They went through the exercise until Shinsou was able to throw a decent punch and side-step Kizuna's deflect-and-attack. Which was very good for restoring Shinsou's confidence for a moment, until she grabbed his wrist, kicked his legs out from under him, and threw him over her shoulder.

They took a water break after that, sitting on the grass and watching the rest of the field. A few students were jogging around the track. Some were kicking around a soccer ball. One or two couples walked around, enjoying their youth.

"We're teaming up in the Sports Festival, yeah?" Shinsou said casually, touching the back of his neck.

"Um." She yanked her short hair to the side, swiping a hand over her sweaty brow. "About that. I don't think I'm participating."

He glanced at her.

Kizuna picked at her nail polish. "Do you… know what happened to me?"

"Heard of it," he said with extreme indifference, which meant he had definitely Googled her at some point.

She hated this age, where everybody knew fucking everything about everybody with a simple online search. She despised it to her marrow. But that wasn't Shinsou's fault, so she pushed it aside. "Recovery Girl suggested that I stay out of the Sports Festival. So I'm not broadcasted, y'know? I guess there's still a danger out there. Though it's probably nothing."

He considered that, and gave a light, understanding shrug. "Better safe than dead."

"Ha. Maybe."

Shinsou took another drink from his water bottle, then poured the rest over his face. He lifted up his shirt to wipe the water away from his eyes. She could see the indentations of his ribs when he breathed in. His torso, like his hands, looked… smooth. Smooth and lanky, the build of an average teenage boy. If she were to use any of Fatgum's grappling moves on him, she could probably snap him like a twig.

He noticed her shameless staring and said, "What."

"I'm just thinking," Kizuna began slowly, and then smirked, "you got a lotta work to do, Shinsou."

Shinsou lowered his shirt. "I'm not afraid of work," he replied, an edge appearing in his voice that could only be described as sheer audacity. For all the heroic virtues his body was currently lacking, that voice wasn't one of them. He had a good voice. "Are you?"

Her eyes narrowed. A challenge. "We're both making it into the Hero course," she replied, and meant, _don't think you can outpace me._

Shinsou staggered to his feet, waving his hand at her. "Kick my ass again, Yokoyama."

The road ahead would be grueling. But it was nice not to walk it alone.

In about three seconds, Kizuna had her legs wrapped around his chest, her knee digging into his face, as she cross-pinned him into an armbar. Shinsou slapped the ground with his other hand, tapping out.

She released him. "That's my tenth win."

"Again."

Another _thump_ on the grass, then: "…Eleventh."

* * *

"Peach or mint?"

Momo tilted her head, indecisive.

Kizuna chose for her; it had to be peach. She carefully swept the nail polish brush around Momo's thumb. They were sitting at a cafeteria table by themselves for lunch, looking to the ignorant observer like they were simply painting nails and trading casual gossip.

"I dug around in Mother's old cases," Momo said. "Giran is a villain. An alias, of course. Some kind of broker on the black market. He's been active for decades. When he was younger, it was petty theft. Around fifteen years ago, he went dark and disappeared from police records, but dozens if not hundreds of crimes have been linked back to him."

Filing that away in her mind, Kizuna moved on to the next nail. "Did it say anything about his Quirk?"

"Yes. His Quirk causes short-term amnesia."

The brush froze. "…Amnesia? Are you sure?"

"But it only erases about five minutes' worth of memories. I assume it's how he gets away with everything."

So it was just a coincidence after all. She wondered if she was supposed to feel relieved… she didn't feel much of anything. _I expected it to be nothing_, she realized. She'd expected disappointment.

"Thanks, Momo. This was helpful." It was helpful confirming she was an idiot.

Momo looked pleased with herself. "Of course. But what… exactly is this for?"

"I'm writing a report for class. I just came across the name in my research." She blew lightly on Momo's peach-colored nails, admiring her work.

A noise at the cafeteria doors caught both their attention. Several students were rushing through, exclaiming that All Might was walking down the hall, and that brought over a bigger wave of students clamoring to get a view of the top hero.

Momo turned to Kizuna, about to ask if she wanted to say hi to All Might, but the chair before her was empty. Its previous occupant had slithered to the floor, and was now hiding beneath the table.

* * *

Yes, Kizuna was still too embarrassed to face All Might. It was an entirely uninteresting bit of trivia that she regaled Yagi with later.

"What's there to be embarrassed about?" the weird mister laughed, looking entertained.

"You wouldn't understand, Yagi-san," Kizuna huffed. He'd never spewed chunks in front of Japan's Number One Hero before, or punched him, or threw a snowball at him, or called him _a failure of a hero_. The mortification…

Yagi straightened out his shoulders, and her gaze was drawn to it yet again. _Why is it so familiar?_ She pressed her hands against his upper back, removing the intense aches and pains she felt there. Yet another aspect that convinced her he was a former Pro Hero. The ability to smile and pretend nothing was wrong, despite an enormity of suffering. It unnerved Kizuna deeply. It was a façade, a mask. A necessary one, maybe, but that unsettled her so much.

"I heard All Might took down three villains this morning," Kizuna sighed. "Damn, he's cool."

"I hear he's getting good treatment," Recovery Girl said from her perch on her chair.

"He's All Might, what sort of treatment does he need? He probably eats barbed wire and muscle milk for breakfast."

Yagi's skeletal mouth grinned. "I can see that."

* * *

Kizuna braced herself against a park bench, holding her ankle and stretching her leg.

The trees were in full bloom and blossoms swirled in the air. Today, the largest park in the city was lively with joggers, dog walkers, people strolling through, and more teenagers than usual who all seemed to be undergoing strenuous physical exercise… but that was a normal sight right before UA's Sports Festival.

She slipped her headphones on and started running. Ever since she started working out regularly, she found that going on runs was critical to getting through the week. Every so often, she had to clear her mind and return to that forested path outside Ekashi's village, leaves crunching underfoot… holding Yuuka's hand as they climbed over logs sunken in the frozen river and whistled at the foxes running by…

A pair of red kicks crossed her vision.

Midoriya slowed his pace and waved as she caught up. He was sweating hard through a shirt that had 'flannel shirt' written on it, a towel around his neck, that mess of green sticking out everywhere. Bruises dotted his forearms.

"Get your ass over here, shorty!" She touched those bruises as they jogged in perfect tandem. "Jeez, what sort of next-level training shit are you on?"

"Thanks." He shot her a freckled grin. "It's like I always bump into you when I need a healer the most."

"Are you calling me your angel? How forward, ya little punk!" Kizuna cheerfully slapped him on the arm and almost sent him crashing into an old lady on a stroll with her dog.

Midoriya balanced himself after the near-stumble, his face resembling a tomato. Here's the thing: she wasn't particularly close with the kid, aside from a few nice memories of jogging with him along the beach. But the way he laughed at himself and her, his eyes bright with good humor and his mouth all nervously squirmy, was seriously melting her heart.

"Lemme ask you something," she huffed and puffed, running next to him. "Your mentor, Yagi, he's a retired Pro Hero, right?"

He almost tripped over his shoes. "H-how do you know about—"

"He's been coming 'round to the infirmary. Recovery Girl says he's an old friend. Anyway, what's his deal?"

"Uhhh," said Midoriya, and then he kept saying, "Uhhh," as he increased his speed, and then he was saying, "Uhhh," as he ran like he was trying to shake her off his tail.

Wait. Was he—was he _running away?_

"_Yai!_ Midoriya!" Kizuna sprinted after him.

"G-gotta train! Gotta train hard!" He jolted as the girl caught up with him, her legs pumping furiously. "Wha—Yokoyama, you're pretty fast!"

"Of course; I've been running away from responsibilities my whole life!"

But there was another UA student in the park faster than both of them. Iida lapped them twice before he slowed down and join them at their pace. He greeted Kizuna and Midoriya with a robotic twitch of his hands, remarking that the park was a popular place for UA students to exercise in.

She decided to stop badgering Midoriya about his mentor. There were plenty of reasons ex-heroes had for not wanting to recall their past occupations; maybe he had resigned in disgrace, maybe he simply disliked talking about his past… Kizuna understood. Instead, she asked for their opinions on whether she should participate in the Sports Festival. It seemed smart to get opinions from Hero course kids.

"You're a… healer," said Iida, with a significant pause before _healer_.

"I pulled a switchblade on a guy on my first day of school," Kizuna reminded, feeling insulted. "Don't I get a little street cred?"

"Bakugou can also blast explosions in the palm of his hand," Iida likewise reminded. "We have someone who can create weapons out of their skin, someone who can shoot acid, Midoriya, who can punch through brick… and that's just in 1-A. Can you fight against combat Quirks?"

Kizuna was this close to taking off her earrings and finding out on Iida. She threw him a narrow glare that threatened as much.

But Midoriya came to her rescue (or, perhaps, Iida's). "I think you can do it, Yokoyama." He glanced her way, and she almost stopped at the conviction she saw there. "If you really try. I think you can fight."

"Hold on, Midoriya! Is that wise? She's in General Studies; she could get hurt!"

"Ah…! No, I'm not suggesting you do anything dumb, either! I mean, you should know your limits! Not that you have limits! Plus Ultra, right? You can definitely do anything you put your mind to! Just, um, be careful and don't get hurt too badly, you know? And you don't have to take my suggestions! You can ignore me!"

"Midoriya's right," Iida amended. "The qualifiers are usually dangerous, but I don't imagine too much harm will come to you. It won't be a one-on-one match, so you won't need to fight. And there's always Recovery Girl."

"So," Kizuna retorted, "being a hero means I have to be good at hurting people."

"In all fairness," Iida replied, without mincing a word, "that is a large part of the curriculum."

She quickened her pace, AF-1's slapping the pavement. Her fingers flashed white.

Oh, she was boiling.

* * *

Smething funny happened in the halls whenever Todoroki Shouto passed through. It was a most curious phenomenon. One of the seven wonders of UA. Kizuna was in the middle of walking when she noticed the hallway beginning to clear, and then she saw him: the half-white and half-red, the half-dead eyes that might've been yanked straight from a mechanical toy soldier, buzzing and broken on Endeavor's living room floor.

Kizuna ducked her head as she walked, letting her hair fall over her face. He had gotten a lot scarier and quieter since seeing him all those years ago at Yuuka's funeral, when (she supposed) pity (briefly) melted his icy exterior. There seemed to be a storm cloud hanging over him today, and she didn't want to get caught in its thunderous ire. Thankfully, Todoroki passed by her without a word.

She exhaled.

A hand snaked over the front of her chest, grasped her rumpled tie, and spun her around.

She found herself face-to-burn with Prince Frost. Expressionless, he asked, "Since when did you have your sister's Quirk?"

Kizuna opened and closed her mouth like a fish for several seconds. "I… could always heal. My Quirk has two parts to it, like you."

His eyes narrowed minutely, like he was about to stab her like a piñata and see what sort of secrets fell out.

She leaned backwards in case icicles were about to shoot out of his fingertips. "This is very rude treatment for someone who baked you a delicious yuzu tart," she pointed out, and was then was arrested by a pale-red burn on the back of his hand, the one that was clutching her tie.

Todoroki seemed to realize it was there the same time she did. His grey-green eyes flicked back up to hers, and they stared at each other. Kizuna took a quiet breath, blinking quickly. Her hand lifted.

Before she could touch him, he had let her go.

Then he looked her dead in the eye and said, "Don't try to help me."

Her stomach twisted. White sparked in her palm.

Oh, she was boiling…!

* * *

Now here was something that brightened up Kizuna's day: ginkgo nuts, lying on the sidewalk outside the McDonald's! Sitting her cup of soda down, she raised one covetously in the air. _Plus one to my inventory!_ She could cook the nuts with rice when she got home! Ah, the streets of Tokyo were but a pittance compared to the bounty of Hokkaido, but some delectable items could still be foraged here!

She stuffed the ginkgo nuts in her pocket and stood up—and bumped into someone who had turned the corner and walked into her. Kizuna lurched, cold coca-cola spilling over her hands and Nikes.

Spiky hair, a UA jacket—oh, what the hell?

"You're sitting in the middle of the road, dumbass," Bakugou snapped, releasing his hold on her rolled-up sleeve—which had, if Kizuna had paused for a moment to notice, stopped her from tripping and bashing her head against the wall.

But as it was, she was gasping angrily at the state of Yuuka's shoes. "You made me spill my soda!"

He scoffed. "Hope your fuckin' teeth rot."

She gaped after him. White lightning snapped between her fists.

_Oh, she was boiling!_

* * *

Her grandmother, Yokoyama Shizuka, used to always say Kizuna was more suited for a physical Quirk.

She'd been rolling around in the mud since the day she was born, climbing trees and jumping naked into rivers and howling like a wolf into the mountains over Ekashi's village. Yuuka was the nice, sweet daughter, always smiling, always poised. Her grandmother used to say Yuuka hardly cried as a baby, while Kizuna wailed and fussed and hollered up a storm. They were so sure she was going to have super strength, or fly, or create fire.

But the gods had blessed her with a Quirk that made _other_ people stronger.

She had been born with a Quirk that could do nothing on its own.

(That had to be a fucking metaphor.)

Countless times Kizuna wished for a power that could rip enemies to pieces, destroy them, pick their bones clean. She wanted a raging inferno. She wanted a heavy-lidded glance as she blew smoke from the tip of her gun like a badass. She wanted pure arrogance, pumping explosions from the palm of her hands—

She furiously shook her head. _No! Not that guy's Quirk! Anything but that!_

Kizuna sat in the infirmary's spinny chair, fuming.

No combat ability. Support. Sidekick. She had long ago decided she wouldn't be bothered by those words.

But the _looks_ on those… those… _those boys!_ If she had cool, strong Quirks like theirs, she'd run the whole damn town, too! If their Quirks were, like, thirty percent less awesome, they'd just be normal, ordinary high school boys! Shy and polite! A total square! A half-burned ice prince! An explode-y idiot!

…Though Midoriya was actually quite observant and compassionate. And Iida was a gentleman who helped her study. And Todoroki… well, he had his own family drama. And Bakugou might be gross, but he wasn't as gross as her.

_I'm the worst_, Kizuna thought glumly. Then: …_I don't care! I'm boiling!_ Oh, she had a furious need to attack a tree stump with a hammer.

"Perhaps it _would_ be best if you sat out the Sports Festival," said Yagi, once Kizuna had finished recounting her current dilemma.

She turned an outraged eye on the sickly gentleman she was healing. "Yagi-san, don't tell me you're one of them!"

"Well, I don't see it as a wasted opportunity," the mild-mannered man replied. "Being a healer, your trajectory towards heroism will naturally be different from your peers. Yes, the Sports Festival celebrates the strongest physical Quirks. But I told you how there are many things those Quirks can't do. For example, healing, love—"

"Oh, fuck off," Kizuna snapped in disgust, and then said immediately, "Sorry! I'm sorry." She bit her lip as he chuckled and waved it aside, then demanded, "But why can't one of those boys be healing and loving? I want to shatter a block of stone with my bare fist, like All Might."

"Violence is easy," Yagi said with the air of the most patient teacher. "Peace isn't."

"If I could punch away my problems," she grumbled, "I can make my own peace, can't I?"

Blood spurted from his mouth as Yagi threw his head back in laughter.

"I'm never gonna be a guy's sidekick!" Kizuna declared hotly, pressing her hands over his stomach. "Not ever! From now on, I'm girls only!"

Yagi howled, and Recovery Girl looked up from typing on her computer to scold them into settling down.

He dabbed his mouth, those blue pinpricks curving up in merriment. "You're very spirited today."

"I'm gettin' riled up, Yagi-san! I'm boilin' hot hot hot!"

But despite Kizuna's passionate disparagement of the universe's wrongdoings, she still had work to do.

She wanted to try something different for Yagi's wound today. She plucked off a strand of her hair and set it over his chest injury, the glowing white strand looping around like surgical thread, and it vanished with a pulse of light. It was one way Yuuka used to heal long-distance, when she was too far to reach her target.

Hm… it didn't seem to make much of a difference. When she first started healing, she didn't know how crucial _feeling_ was to Yuuka's Quirk. It had been a light ripple in the back of her mind, unnoticeable at first. Like examining a pond while standing on a bridge, and only seeing darkness. But now, used to Neogenesis and studying her medical textbooks, she was able to open her eyes below the surface and see the grotto stones, the lotus stems, the schools of koi fish. She was aware of the feeling of a body mending itself… or not, in Yagi's case.

Kizuna frowned, tapping her foot. She sawed the pad of her thumb on the bottom of her sharp dogtooth until it punctured the skin, and apologized to the shocked looks on Yagi and Recovery Girl's faces.

"I remember Yuuka-chan always felt very weak after using blood as a healing tool." Recovery Girl hopped off her chair.

"There's nothing wrong with trying." She drew a circle of blood around the diameter of Yagi's injury, watched it glow white, then focused. Oh. It was a little worse now. She could feel the phantom traces of pain more intensely, the angry twist of ailing bones, the ghosts of many heavy things slamming into Yagi.

Her head pounded, a migraine forming behind her eyes.

Then an old memory flashed in her mind: Yuuka trailing into their apartment after midnight, breathing heavily, shutting herself in the bathroom. She'd slipped out of bed and opened the door a tiny crack, her eye peering into the harsh, cold lighting, watching her older sister curl up into herself in the bathtub like she was in grueling pain. But she wasn't bleeding anywhere. She didn't even look hurt.

Despite all her tricks, Yagi's wound still wouldn't heal. Frustration was building. And this headache was _really_ annoying.

As Recovery Girl bandaged up her bleeding thumb, Kizuna rubbed her head and said, "Let me try one more time."

Yagi seemed hesitant. "Perhaps this is enough for the day."

"Just a little bit more. I can fix you." She glanced at Recovery Girl. "Just a little more."

After another uncertain look at the resident doctor, Yagi nodded. He sat back on the edge of the infirmary bed.

Going back to her normal methods, Kizuna pressed her hands back on that grievous wound. The flame in him was dying. It was like… he was gathered around the fire, protecting it from the howling snow. Hmph. She was from Hokkaido; she could withstand the cold.

"How is it, Yagi-san?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"I feel better. Actually, Yokoyama, Recovery Girl, this is enough."

"Hold on. I almost have it."

"Kizuna-chan—"

"I can fix him." She had to be better than this. Healing was the only way she could be a hero, and she just had to be _better_. She was in UA for a reason, she was doing this for a reason, or else what the fuck was the point of Yuuka dying? That day she studied with the Hero girls, when they asked her about her university plans, she wished she had told them the truth, she wish she had said, _I want to be a hero._ Kizuna poured every ounce of power she had into him, biting out, "_I'm stronger than this_."

White lightning sparked between her hands and Yagi's chest.

Kizuna touched his Quirk.

Exalt was like Neogenesis; in fact, they were sisters.

It allowed her to feel other people's Quirks in her bones and her brain and the tingly part where the base of her neck met her spine. Sometimes shifts in a Quirk user's emotions affected the Quirk itself, and she could feel it laced with fear or joy or sadness. They could feel slightly different one day than they did the next, but here was the crux of it: no matter what the surface emotions were, the sensation of their unique, individual Quirk always remained constant. Like a keystone, or a guiding star.

Like a person's soul.

Firelight exploded behind her eyelids, searing pain that only the world's most powerful hero could withstand. It lashed her face and her arms from every direction, clutching her limbs as she desperately tried to surface and dragging her into the pitch-black void. In the darkness was a shining light, like a firework sparkler, and that light was passed along by shadows, one after the other—the fiery pits of their eyes turned to her, _watching_ her, and their howling voices echoed like a memory, no, not a single memory—many memories, _too_ many—

The light glowed brighter and brighter until it started burning, casting embers into the dark.

The fire was surrounded by eight ghosts.

Among them, a shadow. A shadow she knew because she had seen it a hundred times before. The blue of his eyes flared.

She ripped herself away, the chair creaking beneath her as she slipped off, her eyes flying open and staring right at the frail skeleton man—at All Might, who had caught her wrist before she could fall over.

Kizuna shut her eyes again and screamed.

.

.

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_life changes fast.  
__life changes in the instant.  
__you sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends._

joan didion

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**notes.** turns out i write like a maniac when i'm stressed out. hope everyone is safe n warm n healthy aaaaand i love you guys. take care of yourselves out there. and thank you for your comments, i love reading them!

glossary

ainu

_k'eraye_: (ku eraye) i don't know  
_wakka ooitak ukoiram a_: do you want to talk with wakka (not too sure about the grammar on this one…)  
_aiai paraparak wa an_: crybaby  
_iyotta eramu-usausak_: super confusing  
_moma-po_: little plum  
_ekashi_: grandpa  
_mataki_: little sister

japanese

_yokoyama shizuka_: 静, kanji for quiet, calm; kizuna's father's mother

misc

the korean spicy chicken ramen: if anyone has tried what i'm talking about, you get a gold star sticker


	5. his name is all might

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**I CARRY YOUR HEART**

HIS NAME IS ALL MIGHT

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.

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"That must have been quite a shock," he said gently.

Kizuna stared, numb.

She saw his lips moving. She heard it. Her brain was technically still functioning enough to string together nouns and verbs.

But the entire list of what she was capable of comprehending tunneled to the single thing in front of her: All Might's hollow cheeks. All Might's thin neck. All Might's shadowed eyes. All Might's veins jumping around his thin hands. Last week, he lifted up a collapsing office building entirely on his own. It wasn't possible to go from a thousand pounds of glistening pectorals to a skeleton.

Very funny, reality. You tricky little minx. Very fucking funny.

All Might carried the world on broad shoulders and ten million muscles. Those thin, bony arms that creaked in the wind couldn't carry a grain of sand.

A little magic trick goin' on here, was it? A little bait-and-switch? This fake was tryin' to get her goat. Tryin' to steal her whole farm, haskapberries and all. Come on, there was a perfect explanation. Just tell her the truth: that she was currently in a fucking coma and everything is a dream, and she had to wake up now. Wake up. Wake—

"Kizuna," Recovery Girl was saying from somewhere very far away. "Stop, you're bleeding."

She was digging her dogteeth into her lip. She tasted coppery blood, then pain. Not a dream. She sat rigid on the chair, her chest alternating between hardly moving as she held her breath, or breathing deeply and erratically as she inhaled through her nose. Her fingernails scraped into the seat's leather. She couldn't look at him. He was on the edge of her vision—the skeleton—All Might—the weird mister—Yagi—the man dying, he was dying, oh god, he was _dying_.

_Drink some tea_, the distant voice of Recovery Girl said. Kizuna shook her head. _You'll feel better._ She shook her head harder. A faint sound of a cup being set down, steam wafting from the top. A sigh. A murmured, _How did this happen…_

_I felt him_, Kizuna wanted to say. _I felt him, I felt you, I felt that fire in your soul. I felt it burn and shine and I saw…_ But she didn't say that. Her mouth quivered. She tongued the painful spot in her lip where she broke through skin. She waited for a camera crew to pop out, confetti to rain down, the real All Might with his skin-tight blue-and-yellows to slam through the door and exclaim, "Surprise! That was all just an eerily realistic joke, Yokoyama-shoujo! Ha ha ha!"

But that didn't happen. Her Quirk never lied.

Her nails dug harder into the chair, her eyes boring a hole in the floor. _All Might is really… in front of me…_

"I hope you can forgive me."

She raised her head. She stared at those shadowed blue eyes in disbelief. _What?_

"I've given you a terrible burden to bear." With a beleaguered sigh, he sagged over on the edge of the infirmary bed, his elbows resting on his knees, everything about him sad and tired and _frail_. He bowed his—All Might bowed his head.

Forgive us, the hero had once said to her.

Forgive us for our humanity.

She shook her head. She didn't really know why she was shaking her head. Whether she was refusing his apology, or trying to say that he didn't need to apologize, or maybe she was just declining this entire situation. Please, no. She'd like a refund. She didn't want this.

"Recovery Girl," Kizuna whispered, strained. "Can you pinch me?"

The doctor chucked a tongue compressor at her.

She flinched. "Ow!"

"Come to your senses," Recovery Girl said firmly. "Don't dilly-dally in your daydreams."

She gaped at the doctor for several seconds, rubbing her cheek. Her gut twisted in embarrassment. "Sorry." She slapped her cheeks. "I'm good now."

Recovery Girl set a paper cup filled with water in her hand, motioning for her to drink it. "I didn't know this was possible. Your file says your Quirk simply made other Quirks stronger. That's what your sister always said, too."

Kizuna forced herself to choke down some water and wiped her mouth. "Neogenesis… can touch a wound, feel the memory of it. Mine… touches Quirks. I feel who they are. In my head…" She pressed her hand to her chest. "In here… everywhere."

"Huh?" All Might said, taken aback. "That's creepy."

Kizuna was so outraged she momentarily forgot she was supposed to be horrified. "Seriously, All Might!? That is the _least _of your problems right now!"

Recovery Girl shushed her. "Call him Yagi when he looks like this. It's a small miracle no one was outside the infirmary earlier," she said, referring to when Kizuna had shrieked, crazy-eyed, _All Might! That's All Might! Why the fuck is he All Might!_ before they managed to calm her down.

She cringed. "Right. Sorry."

The skeletal man rubbed his shoulder, long, thin fingers folding over the bone. "This weakened form of mine is a secret that only a few people in the entire world know about. The Hero teachers, a few trusted friends. You've become one of them now. And I'm terribly sorry for that."

Kizuna closed her eyes. She felt sick.

"When I told you I received this wound from a villain, that was the truth. The way I look to the public, the version of me you're used to, is a form I can only keep up for about an hour. Before I turn back into…" He gestured at himself. "This."

His Quirk was losing power? But then, what was that light she saw inside him, and those shadows huddled around the fire…

"All Might—I mean, Yagi-san, I saw something in your Quirk." Pressing her hands together, she shot him a tense, nervous look. "Like… shadows. Or ghosts. There were… eight of them, and one looked like you."

He looked surprised. The sort of surprise that hits you right in the gut, but you don't want to show it.

With a significant glance at All Might, Recovery Girl said, "She'll be healing that boy. It's only a matter of time before this happens again."

"Yes," All Might said, as Kizuna glanced between them in confusion, thinking there was no way they could punch her in the gut again. He laced his fingers together, trying to measure out his words with his care. "Perhaps you should know this. In case it happens again. This is an inherited Quirk. I," he touched his chest, "am the eighth inheritor. Midoriya Izuku is next. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

That kid with the nervous mumbling, his astute observation, his training on the beach…

Sure. That might as well happen. Life might as well be an endless simulation of_ Sounds Fake, But Okay!_

"I cannot stress enough the importance of keeping _all_ of this a secret," Recovery Girl added. "I'd rather not be dramatic and say the safety of the country relies on it, but in this case…"

Kizuna, who had been absorbing everything with a blank stare, jolted. "I won't tell anyone! I—I'd rather die, I swear it. If it ever gets out, I, I, I'll throw myself off a building. I'll—"

"Yokoyama-shoujo, if you breathe a word of this to your family, to a friend, even on accident…"

"I won't! I promise—"

"Listen, please," All Might said, and she did. "There are villains who will stop at nothing to hunt you down. They will torture you for information and then they will kill you. They will kill your family. They will kill Midoriya and his family. If you risk trusting anyone with this secret, then everyone you love will be in danger. Everyone. _Everyone_."

It was quiet.

"Do you understand?" All Might asked.

"…I understand."

He wasn't asking her to protect him. He was asking her to protect herself and her loved ones.

Kizuna realized, then, why he had apologized to her.

It didn't feel cool. It didn't feel like the part in the movies where the heroine is shown a brand-new world, the boundless horizon stretching in front of her. This was scary. This was lock-yourself-in-the-bathroom-with-a-knife terrifying.

"If I may be so bold…" All Might scratched his cheek, hesitant as he peered at the girl staring numbly over his shoulder. "If this is too much… you might consider heading back to that farm in Hokkaido."

Kizuna's eyes widened. She stood up abruptly, the chair rolling away behind her. "Are you fucking kidding me? After everything I've done to get into UA? Hell no! I'm staying. I am _not_ running away from Tokyo again, All Mi—Yagi-san!"

"Such passion!" Allmiyagisan crowed, blood spurting from his mouth.

"_Oh my god, please stop hurting yourself_!"

Dabbing his mouth, he raised his hand in a _sorry!_ gesture. "Please keep this from Midoriya for now. I'll tell him after the Sports Festival. The fewer distractions, the better."

Now that she knew his true identity, she could see the stark similarities between All Might and Yagi. The long yellow bangs, which usually stuck up like rabbit ears in his hero form. The blue eyes. The way his brows moved. How he held his hands. She still didn't know where to put her gaze when she looked at him, feeling like she was gawking at an animal at the zoo. She didn't know how to say she was sorry about everything without it sounding like pity.

"I… will. But… what'll happen now? Are you retiring?"

"No, no, not for a while." He gave an easy, All Might-like laugh. Hearing that, overwhelming relief rushed through her. "Young Midoriya's only just getting his training started!"

Kizuna desperately wanted to believe him. That was the only reason why she didn't say anything about how sick he was (how could she? Right to his _face?_), or how scared she was for him if he kept throwing his body into dangerous, grueling fights. She wanted to believe. She was afraid, and All Might was smiling, and for a brief, brief moment, it felt okay, safe even, to _believe him_.

"If you don't have any more questions, you should get on home," Recovery Girl said, and that seemed like a sensible thing to do. "I know it feels like things can never turn back to normal, but… it will. Little by little."

Still feeling rather faint about everything, Kizuna slung on her backpack. She walked to the door, stopped, then turned and walked back to All Might.

"All Mi—Yagi-san. Last year, in Hokkaido, I… I yelled at you pretty bad."

"No need for apologi—"

"This isn't an apology. I don't regret anything that I said."

All Might coughed. "Ah! Hm! I see!"

"But I forgot to say something else." Kizuna bowed at the waist, her head lowered, her hands resting on her legs. "Thank you for finding me. Thank you for bringing my sister's body back to Tokyo. Thank you for talking to me at the hospital. Thank you for everything."

Yagi sat up, straightening out his shoulders. The loose roll of it, the way he pushed out his chest, was a sight she'd seen a thousand times on the news. When he carried people to safety, when he was standing over a villain, when he beamed and flashed his victory pose. Shoulders straightened and thrown back, declaring, _I am here._

He touched his chest, right over his heart. "You're welcome."

* * *

Recovery Girl walked her outside into the quiet, empty hallway, closing the door behind her. Kizuna looked down at her hands, Exalt and Neogenesis dancing between her fingers. An inherited Quirk… what did that mean? Was Neogenesis the same? How did it work?

"You're troubled," Recovery Girl observed.

Kizuna's brow was furrowed and her mouth was a thin, tense line. She couldn't help the accusatory tone as she said, "You told me it's impossible for Quirks to be given to other people. But Yagi-san just said _his_ Quirk does that. You knew. You lied to me."

Recovery Girl did not refute any of that.

"I did. I lied to you just as we have been lying to the entire student population of UA. To Japan. To the world." She let out a soft sigh, her hands resting on her cane. Her expression was pained, worried, and uneasy. "Can you forgive me?"

These heroes have saved more people than Kizuna could count, but they kept asking for her forgiveness. They gave so much, wanting nothing in return.

Therefore, she could only say, mouth trembling and head bent: "Of course I can." Yes. Always.

* * *

Her Nikes took her to the subway station, as if automated.

She stood on the platform, surrounded by a crowd of people heading home from work. The air was warm and stale. People were buying bottled drinks from vending machines. A few were on phone calls. A mildly tipsy group that pre-gamed for a group date was talking loudly next to her.

_We are going home_, her body reminded._ Then homework. Dinner. You're making hotpot with Gran tonight._ Just a normal day. An electronic voice announced that her train was arriving in three minutes. She stared vacantly at the opposite end of the subway tunnel, at the reflective white tiles, smooth and polished.

There were a multitude of things Kizuna found disgusting about herself. (But in a hilarious way, you know, in an absolutely ironic way that didn't mean anything.)

And because it didn't mean anything: touch.

The other day, she found herself staring at a couple holding hands. It made her think about the casual touches when she used Neogenesis, Ochako's palms pressed against her belly. It was because of her piece of shit Quirk that she wanted that. It was the reason why she held her own hands in bed, under the covers. Her Quirk was pathetic.

And now it had ruined everything for All Might.

He hadn't even yelled at her. He explained it all so calmly… and he smiled… pretended like everything was gonna be okay… and he… and he…

A woman in the tipsy group next to her laughed. The sound, as if breaking a spell, evaporated her numb shock.

Kizuna started crying. Right there on the platform.

Just ugly-sobbing, a broken faucet, tears and snot everywhere. Her mouth curled up as she wailed, her chest heaving, her shoulders shaking, making that awful bawling baby sound that echoed over the shocked faces around her.

It was so embarrassing. She couldn't _stop_.

People were asking if she was okay. The crowd was gently moving around her, both trying to give her air and seeing if she needed to sit down. Every face she looked at made her cry harder. Huge globby tears traced down her cheeks, half-choked gasps that she tried to muffle in her sleeves. _How many of us has All Might saved? How could we not have known he looked like that? Hurt like that? He's in so much pain and nobody knows!_

Someone touched her elbow and ushered her to a vacated bench next to the vending machines. She could hardly see at this point, and she collapsed into the seat, sobbing into her wrists.

He was so skinny. That was the worst of it. What the _fuck_, he was as skinny as she'd been when she stopped eating after Yuuka died. All Might was skinny like a depressed fourteen-year-old girl. Her heart ached. The helplessness hurt like a physical punch. How could she have expected him to save Yuuka in that state? How could they expect him to _do_ what he did every day? _How was All Might still alive?_

"Yokoyama, are you okay?"

Through her tears, she looked up at the person who had helped her sit down.

Midoriya Izuku.

She screamed without meaning to, a fresh wave of tears bursting through. She must've looked insane. Kizuna clutched her nose, trying to mop up the snot with as much poise as possible and failing tremendously.

"Did someone hurt you?"

She couldn't quite hear him over the flood. "H-huh?"

"Did someone hurt you." He grasped her by the shoulders with a force that made her look up in surprise, blinking with her bright wet cheeks and strands of hair stuck to her snotty mouth. There was not a trace of humor on his face as he checked her for wounds, and his grip was almost painful.

"Al-All… All…" She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing out, "All…allergies."

Midoriya blinked. "Oh." His hands fluttered around his pockets, then brought out a packet of tissues. "Pretty severe allergies, huh."

"P-p-pollen… se-season…" she sobbed, accepting a tissue.

"You sure nothing happened?"

"H-hor-hormon—hormonal…"

"I thought you said it was allergies."

"_IT'S BOTH_!" Kizuna's red-faced shriek was ear-piercing. People nearby flinched.

Midoriya sweated nervously, but instead of doing the sane thing and running away, he sat down on the bench next to her while she sobbed her heart out in the muggy subway station. As Kizuna rode out the last wave of tears, trying to get her breathing under control, he sat like a stiff plank of wood, that nervous look on his face.

Then Midoriya reached out and lightly patted her on the arm, over her sleeve.

_This is so awkward_, she thought as she bit back sobs, but she didn't… hate it. His presence was comforting. Probably 'cause of that stupid-looking worried expression on his face, like he really cared about her. Oh, of course he did. It was Midoriya; he didn't know any better. _Stop crying, you dumb bitch_, Kizuna told herself, blowing her nose in a tissue_. We're good. We're good._

"You m-missed your train," she pointed out weepily.

"Well… it was too crowded to get on, so…"

She covered her face again. "Oh my _god_, you are so fucking bad at lying."

He kept patting her arm until her sobs turned to sniffles, which then turned to uneven, nasally breathing. There was a rhythm to his pats. Two short ones and one long. Three long. Rinse and repeat. She used the last tissue to dab at her eyes, then dropped it onto the pile on her lap.

"You can stop now," she told him.

He apologized, his hand returning to his side.

After a moment's thought, Kizuna scooted closer so their shoulders were leaning against each other. Midoriya froze like a block of ice, his hands clenched in front of him like he was grasping an invisible bar to steady himself. His eyes went very round.

She leaned over more, putting her weight on his unexpectedly firm shoulder, head bowed so her hair could hide her face. She took deep breaths, trying to match her shaky breathing to his.

She concentrated on the things around her. The people walking past, the subway trains screeching to a stop and carrying on. The slightly sticky texture of the bench. The quiet hum of the vending machine next to her. He was warm. Her pathetic Quirk itched again, even though it'd already gotten a meal from All Might. If she just closed her eyes, she could be crawling into Yuuka's lap, falling asleep as her sister braided her hair.

"Thanks, shorty," she mumbled.

But Midoriya didn't respond with a heartfelt _you're welcome_ the way All Might did.

Instead, he replied with a much uglier word: "Kacchan."

She froze, glancing through her hair. This was why she preferred driving her Vespa over taking the subway. But since her poor scooter was broken…

Bakugou stood on the platform, his hands in his pockets. His narrow red eyes focused on the girl sniffling against Midoriya with a pile of tissues in her lap. "The hell's wrong with her?"

"Hormonal, um, allergies," answered Midoriya.

Kizuna considered the lure of spontaneous combustion. Bakugou appeared to do the same.

"I don't wanna know." He kept walking, glancing at her puffy eyes and splotchy cheeks from peripheral. "You better not be sniveling up to that nerd, cryin' crocodile tears. Deku ain't the brightest bulb."

She sniffed, wiping her nose. "Deku…?"

"Hey," Midoriya said. "She might've been hurt."

Kizuna immediately tried to shush him, but Bakugou paused. It was a slight pause, one that didn't want to show too much care. Maybe one that reminded himself he was a hero-in-training, and therefore had some kind of bound obligation to alert the transit police about a perv on the subway.

"It's nothing," she insisted to the ground. "Really." A beat. "Fuck off."

Midoriya glanced at her in concern.

Bakugou scoffed. "Tsk. Wastin' my time, foxface."

As his footsteps left, Kizuna sat up slightly, still leaning against Midoriya. Her nose and cheeks were still pink, but at least she wasn't a leaky faucet anymore. She glanced after that spiky blond hair vanishing through the crowd. "Kacchan…" Then she pointed at the boy sitting beside her. "And Deku?"

She felt his shrug through their shoulders. His scarred thumbs fiddled with each other. "Childhood nicknames."

She couldn't even feel sad again. Irritation had filled that void. "I'm sorry."

Midoriya laughed awkwardly. "It's okay. I actually kinda like it now." He looked over at the tunnel, the speakers announcing the arrival of his train. "Are you gonna make it home okay?"

She nodded.

"Are you… um, sure you're okay?"

She nodded again.

"If it's not too weird… I can walk you home. Uh. If you want."

Kizuna desperately forced herself not to cry again. She shook her head, thanking him for his kindness but saying she was fine. Midoriya shot her one last look over his shoulder as he stepped onto his train, and she watched him through the window until it took off.

Her train arrived. It slowed down in front of the platform, stopped, and departed again. She sat on the bench for another hour, watching the hustle and bustle of the commuters going about their lives, before she found the energy to stand and return home.

* * *

The sun rose.

She knew it would. She knew her experiences had utterly no bearing on the universe at large.

The day after she learned Yuuka was dead, the sun had also risen. She'd watched it in her hospital room, hardly daring to believe her own eyes. It hadn't seemed possible. The world had no right to keep going on after something so immense had happened to her.

But still the sun rose over distant gleaming skyscrapers. Watching from the top of her slanted roof, terracotta tiles dug into her feet and she hugged her sweater tighter around herself. Despite everything, tomorrow arrived.

* * *

**Kizuna** (10:17 am)  
_Your favorite sister is at Quirk counseling today. I know, yucky!  
__Something happened…  
__But I won't tell you because you'll tell all your ghost friends._

_I'm trying to be good. Trying, trying, trying._

_You'll be pleased to know I haven't attempted another heist.  
__Was nearly caught with strawberry pocky.  
__My own fault. I am not nearly as slick as I think I am._

_Anyway, wish me luck. This is going to hurt._

* * *

Quirk counseling was not only a mandatory program for young children, but it was also open to teenagers and adults who might need it. There were several clinics in Tokyo were people could get advice from professional counselors for free.

The waiting room was covered in encouraging posters and mild, inoffensive magazines to read. A receptionist quietly answered calls. Brochures and pamphlets covered the tables with stock photos of families looking dementedly happy.

Stuffing her phone back in her pocket, Kizuna sat on a hard plastic chair, chewing gum, waiting for her name to be called. She was here of her own free will. The incident with All Might made it clear something had to be done with Exalt. She should've gone to a counseling center earlier. After almost catapulting her and Ochako into space… no, even earlier, after that accident in the UA Entrance Exam…

She crossed her legs, hands clenching nervously in her lap. Quirk counseling had never been particularly helpful to her, but she didn't know what else to do about this little fucking hunger in her soul.

Across from her, a green-skinned little boy was sitting with his parents. Watching her blow a bright pink bubble, the boy gave a bashful smile. In his mouth was a garden, and between his nettle-teeth, poison ivy bloomed.

She popped her gum and smiled back.

His parents pulled out shears from their pockets and quickly snipped away the ivy, telling him to control himself. He went back to staring at his feet and didn't look up again. His parents glared at Kizuna, as if telling her to leave their son alone.

Her smile vanished. She sunk down further in her chair.

When her name was called, Kizuna shuffled inside a counselor's office. A middle-aged lady sat behind a desk, typing on a computer. She gestured at her to sit down on the visitor's chair.

"Yokoyama Kizuna," the counselor read from her screen. "Your Quirk strengthens other Quirks. And it can heal. Oh, how wonderful. You're much better than the kids I usually get."

Kizuna slowly sat. _What the fuck does that mean_ would probably not strike the appropriate tone. "…Thanks."

She clicked her mouse. "Let's see what we have here… it says you finished your mandatory Quirk counseling in grade school. Good, good. Oh?" She leaned closer to the screen, looking over her glasses. "You had a little incident when you were a child, which you received extra counseling for…"

Kizuna rubbed her eye, suddenly feeling like there was frost growing on her lashes.

"Oh my goodness. Isn't he—"

"I'm here for help," she reminded, snapping her gum.

The counselor's brows lifted. She smiled, setting her hands on her desk. "Of course. What's the matter?"

"Sometimes my Quirk gets out of my control. When I'm… under a lot of stress." _It wants to eat. It's a parasite._ "It stops listening to me."

The counselor smiled in reassurance. "That's a common question we get here. This sort of thing happens all the time at your age. The changes, the strife of teenage adolescence."

"Yeah," Kizuna said, struggling not to sound sarcastic. "Sure. What can I do about it? Some kind of therapy?"

"Therapy is a good way to describe our program. With a few changed habits, we can teach you how to cut yourself off from your Quirk. When you feel that urge to use it coming on, the key is to create mental distance. Arts and crafts, talking to a friend, listening to music… breathing exercises also help."

"…Breathing exercises."

The counselor went on to describe the various ways Kizuna could stifle her Quirk. "Simple, easy things. Anything to distract that bad little part of your brain from thinking about things it shouldn't be."

_Snip snip_, went those shears. "I've been doing that for a long time. It's not working."

"If your Quirk only makes other people stronger… I wouldn't say that's a terrible problem. It can't physically do harm to yourself or other people, can it? Why don't you try limiting the physical distance you have with people? Wear long sleeves and long pants. Wear gloves."

Gloves? Gloves had never stopped her from feeling what Exalt made her feel. Had Quirk counseling gotten even worse since she was a kid?

"We have classes here that teach kids and adults how to control their Quirks by repressing it. Take a pamphlet. We meet twice a week and go over exercises on how to live a normal, positive, wholesome life."

To that, she popped a bubble and replied: "I'm good, thanks."

* * *

Kizuna had a few coping methods to manage her stress.

She went on runs. (She ran and ran and ran until her legs wanted to die and her heart threatened another transplant.)

She played video games. (She liked characters with violent-looking designs. Anything with an axe was good. When fighting RPGs weren't enough, she shook peaches from trees and sold them to the tanuki to pay off her debt, and that was another kind of catharsis.)

She cooked. (She slammed a butcher's knife through chunks of meat. She pummeled the shit out of dough. Yeast could not scream.)

She drew. (Café drawings, color pencils, Faber-Castell pens angrily digging across a blank page.)

Last but not least, she gorged herself on junk food.

UA students had Golden Week off for break. Among Hero students, this time was spent lifting weights, exercising, and training their Quirks so they could head into the Sports Festival in tip-top shape.

Meanwhile, Kizuna was discovering that the pizza rolls she had microwaved tasted like artificial garbage.

She still ate it, because artificial garbage was tasty. She was resting her cheek flat on the kitchen table, a plate of greasy, cheesy hubris sitting in front of her.

She was depressed, and she wanted that to be extremely clear. She was considering writing it on her forehead. Possibly shouting it from the rooftops. Putting it on a blimp and having it flash in neon over Tokyo. She sighed for about the sixty millionth time. Even chewing was depressing her. A half-eaten pizza roll melted back out from Kizuna's mouth, oozing in a fat pizza-spittle glob on the table. She didn't even have the energy to be grossed out at herself.

Her grandma came by to scold her that Yuuka's life insurance money was only for emergencies, not for junk food. A future hero ought to eat right. Yokoyama Shizuka took in her teenage granddaughter's lifeless posture, her head resting like a dead fish on the kitchen table.

"_Ku eramuan_," the lifeless fish muttered.

"Well! If you know it, then do it."

Kizuna sat up, looking at her grandmother in surprise.

"You don't think I've picked up a few phrases around your mother?" she replied with a dainty little sniff.

The assumption of her own ignorance made Kizuna start crying again. Her grandmother was right! There were so many things she didn't know!

Shocked, her grandmother asked what the heavens was wrong with her.

What she wanted to say was, "I am pondering an existential burden that you do not understand, Grandmama," while staring moodily out into the sea with the salty wind blowing through her effortlessly styled hair.

What she actually said was, "I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE PIZZA ROLLS, LEAVE ME ALONE," as she flopped out the kitchen.

* * *

She needed to clear her head, which meant another jog. She didn't think about where she was going, and her feet automatically took her down several blocks to a convenience store near downtown.

Kizuna was walking inside when she realized she'd ran out of her house wearing just her pajama shorts and sleep shirt. Well, whatever. This was her depression fugue state outfit of choice, and she wanted to look like she hadn't left her gremlin hole in a thousand years. Even the shop clerk, who said the customary greeting when she walked in, averted his eyes and spoke to the wall instead. She caught a reflection of herself in her toothpaste-stained shirt. _Ah, yes._ _This is not for mortal eyes._

Her hands were getting twitchy again. Kizuna ran her fingers along a row of bread snacks.

There was an indescribable of allure of physically holding something that wasn't hers. It was never about the thing she stole. It was the act of stealing. Not the rush of it, but the knowledge that she was touching something that didn't belong to her. It was so simple to take things, even hearts. Even sisters.

"_For those of you who missed it, let's replay a clip of All Might carrying this entire collapsing building on his back so the occupants could escape_!" came voices on the tv in the corner. "_He really can do anything, can't he_?"

The shop clerk's eyes were trained on the tv, engrossed. Kizuna also stared, biting her lip.

Then she glanced at the two cameras, one in the front and back. The very end of the bread aisle was in a blind spot… her oversized Tutari shirt almost covered her shorts, baggy enough to hide a snack or two… She traced a fingernail across a chocolate pastry in its sealed plastic bag, feeling herself slipping between worlds.

The girl shifted her weight in the blind spot, in the empty aisle, her white hair and dark pink shirt visible between bags of chips if anyone was there to look. If her life was a dream, then she was alone…

Right as she picked up the pastry, a sudden heat locked around her wrist.

She lurched awake. She stared at the fingers choking her pulse, the hand broad and calloused and digging her bracelets into her skin.

_Iyohai!_ Kizuna jerked her arm. But Bakugou didn't let go.

"Don't fuckin' try it," he said.

"Yikes." Yuuka observed over her little sister's shoulder. "Another meet-scary. You two have _got_ to stop bumping into each other like this."

_Not helpful._ "I was just looking," Kizuna said blandly, releasing the pastry back to the shelf. "Is that a crime?"

She tore her hand away from his grip and walked down the aisle with an air of perfect innocence that was so manufactured Bakugou could no doubt see right through it. The _iwendep_ followed her, like some kind of hero keeping an eye on a would-be thief. Which she _wasn't_. Anymore. For now. She scowled to herself. She had baked his entire class treats. Couldn't he take that as a bribe and look the other way?

Well, she couldn't go through the rest of the school year with this hanging over her head.

Hands laced behind her back, Kizuna spun around and looked at the menacing boy from beneath her eyelashes. Her bare knees rubbed together.

"Bakugou-san, I'm really sorry about that time." She smiled sweetly, her soft pink eyes widening, doe-like. The store lights cast an angelic glow across her face as she fiddled with an unruly strand of hair. "Can we put it behind us and start fresh?" She bit her lip gently. For the effect.

Bakugou stared. The blushing shop clerk knocked over something on the counter and hastened to pick it up.

Then the red-eyed demon said, "Damn, you're faker than a packet of Splenda."

The entirety of Kizuna's pride was vaporized.

She repressed the urge to body-slam him into the shelves. His nasty hero body would crush all the snacks, anyway.

Huffing in aggravation, Kizuna strode onward through the ramen aisle with her remaining self-respect. He tramped after her like some kind of threatening shadow, his shoulders muscling through even though no one was in his way. She could hear his feet trudging over the linoleum and feel the gaze drilling into the back of her head. Was he waiting for her to grab an armful of dehydrated noodles and run, so he could tackle her to the ground?

_Iyotta irannakka ruwe an._ What an irritant. Pursing her lips, she shot him an ugly, disdainful glare. "Do you really think I'm dumb enough to do something with you watching me?"

"You seem like a dumbass."

God, she gave that to him. "Fuck you _very_ much."

A red glance at her Tutari shirt. "Aren't you from some hero family? That's a bad fucking look." He paused, looking up. "Wait. It's sidekick, ain't it."

Her jaw clenched. Kizuna turned her nose up and refused to reply. He didn't seem to appreciate her ignoring him, and was so close to her he was practically breathing that brimstone breath down her neck. All humid and gross, made her want to swat it away like mosquitos in the summer.

"Are you this rude to everyone?" she demanded, and thinking of his rudeness made her think of the subway, which made her think of… "I get me, but Midoriya? He's a nice kid."

Surprise flashed across his face, then annoyance. "Mind your goddamn business, sidekick."

"That is very funny. Coming from you. In this situation." She walked over to the soft drinks.

"Who gives a shit about nice. There's only room for one at the top."

The top. Only one. All Might.

Kizuna stood still, looking at the drinks. "…Do you think being strong is the only way to be a hero?"

"That's natural!" His palms were bent like he was _this_ close to summoning his explosions. "What would All Might be if he ain't strong? Just some weak-ass little bitch playing pretend. He's the top hero because he's All Might, and he's All Might because he can wreck the shit out of villains!"

She closed her eyes. Kizuna wanted to press her face into the shelves and weep, even if it was in front of the loudest boy on the planet who'd think she was having a mental breakdown over a quart of orange juice. She had thought the same thing as Bakugou. One day, if he ever learned, was he going to cry as she did? Was that aggressive voice going to break down sobbing, was he going to look at All Might with tears in his eyes and wish to god he could share some of his pain?

Well.

If that ever happened, she wanted to be there with her phone and record everything.

Kizuna reached for a sports drink. "Then you must like Midoriya a lot, huh."

"…You wanna say that again, foxface?"

"He's strong," she said calmly. "Just like All Might. The hero you aspire to, right?"

A hand slammed on the shelf right in front of Kizuna's nose. Her hair flew back in the force of it. Her pupils turned into sharp slits, eyes twitching at the boy suddenly digging his face into her personal bubble.

"They're all goin' down in the Sports Festival," Bakugou promised lowly. She realized she was looking directly at his nose instead of his eyes. Had he _grown_ since the entrance exam? He seemed to be slightly taller now. She was so distracted by this travesty she almost missed him saying, "Your ass, too."

The Sports Festival. She'd forgotten about that. "I don't think my ass is joining."

"Coward. I plan to get even on national television. For this." He slashed his thumb across his neck, mimicking a switchblade.

A flush rose on her cheeks. "That wasn't… I was…" She pushed his chest. It was like punching a brick wall. "You shouldn't have grabbed me in the cafeteria!"

"You did that weird shit to me in the entrance exam!"

"That was on accident, you dweeb!"

"The fuck did you call me!?"

"Dweeb dweeb dweeb dweeb dweeb!"

"Excuse me," said the poor store clerk. "Please don't fight in here."

"I'm sorry," Kizuna said immediately. Bakugou grunted.

She dug her fingers into her shirt, forcing down the flickering white lightning. It was hungry again, hunting for that red-hot Quirk, the arrogant rage.

It was her turn to lean forward. "You should be so grateful. I don't use that power on just anyone. By the way…" It was imbued in her memory; Ochako was fluffy and light, Eraserhead was still like a dark lake, All Might was… immense. But this kid? Combined with heat and sweat and sulfurous nastiness… "You taste like _shit_."

And then she turned around.

It took Bakugou several seconds to remember what the fuck he was in the store in the first place. He reached for the last All Might Pocari—only to discover it was gone, currently in the hand of the girl paying at the cash register.

* * *

A figure stood far off down the beach, in the fog. He was skipping stones out into the ocean.

She slowed down from her jog, a nearly-empty bottle of Pocari swishing around in her hand. The pristine shores of Dagobah Beach Park were empty thanks to the overcast, sunless sky. Fog rolled in from the sea and turned the landscape into hues of grey. She should've known she'd find him here. Or maybe she hoped. She debated turning around and leaving him be, but her feet were already moving forward…

The tide ebbed and flowed up the beach. Dozens of sandpipers walked around the shore, their beaks digging for food. The birds danced away as Kizuna walked through them, her shoes crunching in the wet sand.

Midoriya was… ordinary-looking. A little plain, if Kizuna wanted to be unkind. The katakana on his shirt read 'shirt', and that summed him up pretty well. He extended his arm back, holding a pebble between his fingers, and then chucked it out into the misty ocean. It skipped seven times before sinking. His shoulders slumped. Then he bent down for another stone and caught sight of her.

Kizuna stopped in front of him, a bottled drink stuck in the waistband of her shorts, her foxlike eyes observing in curiosity. "Whatcha up to?"

"Just trying to practice with my Quirk." Midoriya fiddled with the stone in his hands. He opened his mouth, went through five different of restarting his sentence, and finally was able to say, "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah." She had cried a river in front of him. Such things made one impervious to shame. "Thanks for the tissues."

"I'm glad you're doing okay."

She shrugged. Out of the corner of her eye, Kizuna studied him, searching for a glimpse of what made All Might choose him as his successor. Why this kid? Out of everyone? "You have super-strength, right? Can you show me? Come on, shorty, no one's around."

He tossed the stone up and down, looking around with hesitation. "I can…" He shot her a furtive sort of look. "If you heal me afterwards."

"Sure?"

Midoriya gripped it in his hand, fist tight. He twisted his torso and flung his arm back in a long line, eyes narrowed and brilliantly green.

He launched the stone.

A gust of wind blew apart the grey world. Kizuna stepped back, her hair and shirt billowing around her.

The first impact rippled out, sending waves crashing onto the shore. The second did the same, and the tenth, and the fiftieth. The clouds broke apart. A sword-slice of radiant sunlight streamed down, lighting the path of the stone as it skipped and skipped and skipped over the joyous blue waves, until it vanished to where they couldn't see it at all.

Sandpipers took flight in a flurry of white wings around Midoriya, cawing, soaring over the ocean, chasing those rays of light. And then they were two teenagers standing on the shoreline, looking out at the sea that glittered like a hundred million diamonds.

She couldn't say a word.

It rose in her chest, pushing against her ribcage, breathlessly straining. _You really are like him._

The next symbol of peace would be in the form of a freckled, fifteen-year-old boy.

Her arms were limp at her sides, her jaw slack. _If I had that Quirk, I'd find the biggest axe in the world and cleave the sky in two. I'd stomp the earth to feel it thunder. How lucky._ She took a small step forward, not sure if it was toward the sunlight or towards Midoriya.

That little victorious inhale-exhale as he gazed out into the ocean… morphed into a grimace. He lurched over, holding his hand.

His finger had snapped in three places. Blood dripped.

Hissing in shock, Kizuna grasped his hand in hers, a warm glow surrounding it. That one moment of super-strength had cracked his finger. It was the Quirk All Might had given him. It was tearing apart his body. She felt a graveyard of injuries in that hand, the vestiges of bones snapping, tissue ripping apart. The color drained from her face. Lucky? No. This was a horror show.

Midoriya watched his finger painlessly straighten out, blood clotting, bones repaired.

"Thanks," he said gratefully, and tried taking back his hand. She didn't let go. "Um… Yokoyama?"

Kizuna gripped tighter, holding all those painful scars. "What've you done to yourself?"

His expression was a little sheepish. "It's okay, Recovery Girl's been healing me. She lectures me about it, too…"

"She should!" she snapped, her eyes scalding pink. "Is it worth it? Are you dumb, Midoriya? Are you looking forward to arthritis in your twenties? Getting life-long nerve damage?" _Why are you giving up a life of being a normal teenager for this shit?_ she wanted to add._ Why are you stupid fucking heroes always trying to martyr yourselves!_

A pale Midoriya leaned back, his tiny grin frozen as he realized Recovery Girl's temperamental apprentice was not going to give him an easier time.

"I can yell louder than her. I have _very_ youthful lungs."

"I'll find a way to use my Quirk without breaking anything! I will!" Chastened, he gripped his wrist in one hand, muttering, "I've always been lucky enough to be around someone can heal me after I use it. I need to refine my technique and get stronger so my body can adapt better to this strength." He paused. "Um. My strength. The strength I've had my whole life."

She looked up at the sky. "Uh-huh."

It was a wonder how All Might's secret stayed a secret for so long. Heroes were so hideously self-sacrificial. She was going to have a lengthy monologue in the shower about this tonight. Her loofah was going to get yelled at with devastating intensity.

After that, they had a stone-throwing competition to see who could get the most skips. Kizuna was an expert in stone-skipping thanks to many lazy summers in Hokkaido, and she gave Midoriya a run for his money, even if he did win the most rounds in the end. Somehow the conversation veered to bicep size, and they rolled their shirt sleeves up, comparing. She pinched his arm, snickering as he squawked. He sure was fit for a shorty.

"Hey, Midoriya." With her shoe, she drew a little pug face on the sand, its tongue sticking out. "Why do you want to be a hero?"

He was back to skipping stones into the ocean. "I… just want to be like All Might."

She studied his figure. Fog was rolling back over the beach, but the last rays of sunlight wreathed the tips of Midoriya's hair in a golden crown.

"And you, Yokoyama?"

Did he need to ask? There was only ever one reason.

"To get rich and famous. I'll be one of those heroes who models on the side." Kizuna adopted a glamorous pose with her shoulder lifted coyly. "Or an actress." She swept back her chin-length hair, conveying the majesty of long, tumbling white tresses. "Thoughts?"

Midoriya averted his gaze so fast he almost got whiplash, and now he was scrutinizing the pebble in his hand with ardent determination. "I-i-it suits you?" he said to the air, like a question. The tips of his ears were pink.

It's good to know _some_ people weren't totally immune to her charm.

He gave another sheepish look as she giggled, and scratched the back of his head. All of a sudden, she wanted to know what his Quirk felt like. It'd probably feel the same as All Might's. But she wondered if it would also feel like wearing a pair of warm cotton socks, fresh from the dryer. Like chicken noodle soup.

Kizuna ran her nails against the cap of her All Might Pocari. "Do you think," she said, keeping her voice casual, "we can be as great as our idols?"

"Well…" The pebble in his hand tossed up and down. "I want to believe that."

"But what if… we don't deserve it?"

Midoriya looked at her, really looked. She gazed back, her expression devoid of its usual teasing bite.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "Maybe we don't deserve to be great heroes the way we are now. But that might change tomorrow." He tossed the pebble out into the ocean. "Or the next day." The stone skipped, skipped, skipped. "Or the day after that. Every day, we keep trying. That's how we'll know. Right?"

The ocean lapped at their feet. She grasped her hands behind her back, her Tutari shirt rising and falling gently in a breeze.

"Sorry if I'm not making sense," Midoriya said quickly.

She let out a breath, long and slow. "No, you are."

"Sorry," he said again, not hearing her, wrapped up in his own head.

Charmed, she shoved her elbow into his ribs. "It's okay! Jeez!"

He wheezed, shoulders hunching up. Kizuna was going to start categorizing the different types of Midoriya grins. There was his usual wholesome, can-do-anything grin, and then there was his squirmy, self-conscious grin that resisted smiling too broadly. Both were so open, so easy, so honest. She could see everything in his smiles. She used to smile just like that.

Sitting down on the sand, she asked him if he was ready for next week. Midoriya nodded. His classmates were strong, but he didn't want to lose against any of them. With great cheer, Kizuna said that she couldn't wait to watch them pummel each other bloody, and should she bring popcorn?

"You should fight, Yokoyama."

"Oh, sure," she joked, her finger moving across the sand.

"You should," Midoriya repeated, stepping closer. Her heart thumped as, once again, she saw everything. "Join the Sports Festival. Japan is waiting for the next Tutari, and you should tell them 'I'm right here!'"

The next Tutari. Kizuna went cold. She looked at the two stick figures she scraped into the sand, their hands clasping together.

"My sister," she said, "cannot be replaced, Midoriya."

He stammered, sensing the poison in there, the flat refusal. "Ah—no, I-I didn't mean… that wasn't the right…" He went quiet for a few seconds. "I know. I can't… properly explain how much I know what you're talking about, but please believe me." His face scrunched up helplessly. "I know I'll never be able to replace my heroes, and I'd never think about it that way…"

His voice trailed off, quiet.

"But when they're gone," Midoriya finished, equally nervous and forceful, "somebody has to carry the torch."

A torch. A legacy. A pair of hand-me-down Air Force 1's.

"When was the last time you saw a videotape?" she asked him. "Or a jukebox?"

"Huh?"

"Things turn obsolete so fast. A new generation of tech comes out and older models die off. People forget. I know nothing lasts forever… I know it's inevitable…" Far off down the beach, a white-haired figure stood, her face indistinct in the fog. Kizuna wiped away her scribbles, her fingers digging into sand. "But it makes me fucking sick, thinking that people might see me and forget her."

_What if one day, they see you and forget about him?_

"How could you possibly let that happen?"

She looked over at Midoriya, and he looked back.

He said, "Do you want to be a hero?"

His eyes were too lucid. She had to look away. "I'm destined to be a sidekick, so sure."

"Th-that's not what I asked."

"Ha! I'd crack under so much responsibility. Shit."

"Yokoyama. Do you want to be a hero?"

Kizuna went still, the mucky tar of old failures dripping off her. She was seven again, understanding that some Quirks made such a goal impossible. Then she was eight, attending her dad's funeral with the resounding impression that this hero business was too much, too tiring. Then she was thirteen, and her sister was dead, and she never wanted to hear the word 'hero' again.

Her mouth was dry. She was appalled at herself for not immediately replying with a sarcastic remark. Kizuna shut her eyes.

"I want to be a hero," she said quietly. _For Yuuka._

"Maybe I don't have any right to say this… maybe I'm just being a bother, but…" The boy spread his scarred hands, luminous. "You should do it your own way! It doesn't matter what kind of Quirk you have. Whatever way you want to fight, fight! Whatever way you want to live, live!"

Midoriya grinned, and she could see everything.

She could see Yuuka, and how she used to remind her, "_You never have to be what your Quirk tells you to be. You're free._" But hadn't Yuuka meant she never had to use Exalt for anyone? She never had to be anyone's self-sacrificing hero? The context was all muddied up in Kizuna's head…

But she just needed to look at him for the fog to clear. The shine of his eyes was especially lovely. Why had she ever thought he was plain-looking? He had sat right next to her while she cried and let her use up all his tissues. It made perfect sense for him to be All Might's successor.

Kizuna pointed upwards at the clouds, gasping, "What's that? A bird? A plane? No! A hero! What's his name? His name is…!"

_All Might_, she would've once said.

"Midoriya!" Kizuna cheered, fangs flashing. "Woooow! Rescue me, shorty!"

"I… I'll rescue you!" He rolled up invisible sleeves.

She fell to the ground, getting sand all over her clothes. "I'm drowning! The tide's taking me!"

"I'll save you!"

"This hermit crab is saying he'll take me back to his crab kingdom and make me his bride! Noooo!"

"I'll fight him off!"

With a flustered glare that valiantly attempted melodrama, Midoriya shouted at the hermit crab and kicked up sand everywhere. She clutched her stomach, her head thrown back in hopeless laughter. On and on and on, like skipping rocks.

* * *

The morning of the Sports Festival, Kizuna woke up, stretched, misjudged the distance to the floor, and fell off her bed.

After getting dressed and nursing the bump on her head, she took out her earrings—all nine of them—and set them on her desk. Yuuka's medals of valor gleamed. She kissed her fingers, then pressed them to the medals.

Perched on the windowsill, a sparrow took off.

Her grandparents were understanding about letting her participate in the Sports Festival. Actually, she thought they were pleasantly surprised. A Hero family worth their salt wasn't afraid of getting attacked by villains. They bragged about it to their friends during Sunday tea. Heroes got death threats on a daily basis, so Kizuna was pretty sure her grandparents were looking forward to the day she received an ominous letter written in newspaper clippings in the mail.

But instead of creepy letters, her grandmother stuck a box of strawberry pocky in Kizuna's backpack. "You dropped this outside. Don't be so slovenly. If you buy these snacks with Yuuka's money, you should treat them as something precious."

Kizuna hadn't bought any strawberry pocky. She was amazed. This was such a tsundere way of slipping her treats…

Like the rest of the Yokoyama clan, her grandfather had a short stint with heroism (as a sidekick, naturally) before becoming a prosecutor. His normal resting face when he asked her to pass the butter was terrifying. This morning, with his sharp black eyes and stern frown, he told Kizuna to make the Yokoyama name proud. Her grandmother told her to smile when she saw a camera on her.

Kizuna promised she'd try to remember that while getting her teeth knocked out of her head.

* * *

PE jackets zipped up, shoelaces tied, hair was pulled back into ponytails. Chapstick and deodorant were applied liberally. Lockers banged shut.

"Did you hear? About the news?"

"Fucking crazy. It took twenty years."

"What, what?" Kumoko poked her cloud over the other girls' shoulders. "What'd I miss?"

Though this day was momentous for one reason, the girls/future jurists, doctors, and police detectives of General Studies were discussing a fascinating news article that had slipped under the radar.

"A Yamada Hanako case," Rokue answered, her six eyes blinking in turn, "about a girl—she was, _you know_, by a hero, and she killed him out of self-defense. Sentenced to life. Today they overturned the ruling and they're letting her go."

They all hoped they'd cover the case in Street Law. It was especially rare to hear about rotten heroes these days.

"'Corrupt law enforcement doesn't exist nowadays' they all say," Mitsu drawled in her usual tepid expression.

Kizuna closed her locker. "Every hero is at least a little fucked up. Judging by experience."

The 1-C girls kept discussing the case as they left the locker room.

"She still killed someone. Isn't that still technically a crime?"

"Morally, yes. Legally? Self-defense with a justifiable use of force exonerates." The court case was public record, and Chikuchi had clearly read up on it. "Like, the evidence was irrefutable. DNA, blood splatter, Quirk forensics. The jury was insane to deliver a guilty verdict."

"Well, he was a hero, what were they gonna do? _Not_ side with him?"

"Imagine having that much power and abusing it."

"No need to imagine when you can just turn on the news and see it happen in real-time."

"Yokoyama, don't be so jaded."

Kizuna smiled dryly. "Wonder why they chose today to bury the story."

As if on cue, Detective Goro-sensei, who was leaning on his cane outside 1-C's prep room and must've overheard the girls, said, "Save the discourse for class or the Supreme Court, whichever comes first for you kids. Let's show a little General Studies spirit today, huh? It's the Sports Festival!"

Yaaaaaaaay.

In 1-C's prep room, Kizuna expected her classmates to be doing brisk stretches while everything was getting set-up. Instead, half the class was doing homework so they could have as much free time as possible during their break, and the other half was debating the best ramen spot to hit up after this.

They did not care in the slightest. It was _delightful_.

The only boy taking it seriously was stretching in the corner, looking intense. Scary. More evil-looking than usual.

She hadn't talked to Shinsou much over Golden Week. She should've asked if he wanted to get his ass kicked by her some more. But with all that happened… the only time she texted him was whining for help on a Math assignment (yes, despite everything she was going through, there was still _homework_ to deal with. How lame was that!). As a spiritual apology, she offered him a strawberry pocky. He refused. She poked his cheek with it until Shinsou nabbed it out of her hand with his teeth.

The pink stick wiggled in his mouth. "Done distracting me?"

Kizuna deliberately pushed a second pocky between his teeth, then tossed the rest to her class. She grabbed her backpack and told them she was going to stop by the infirmary.

She jogged through the hallways, trying to find Recovery Girl's temporary office. She passed through a hall with windows and paused, staring at the size of UA's Sports Festival stadium. It looked big outside, but it looked _massive_ on the inside. And itwas quickly filling up with an audience. On the ground, news crews were setting up their cameras. Large video screens stationed around the stadium were turning on, zooming in on close-ups of the excited spectators.

Pro Heroes from all over Japan were flying in. He had to be here, too… here to watch his son…

She scanned the audience, and her gaze was drawn to the press box. Two Hero teachers were sitting inside, checking the microphones. Flamboyant yellow hair right next to dark black, a half-bandaged face, one arm wrapped in a cast. Present Mic and Eraserhead.

Kizuna froze.

She thought she was too far away to notice, but Present Mic's whorled yellow eyes were peering over his sunglasses. She took an unconscious step back, goosebumps popping up her skin. He was looking right at her. Those eyes seemed to say, _You Know._

She didn't know what she expected. A personal sit-down with all the Hero teachers, maybe. A group therapy session. She'd join them in their weekly meetings of What the Fuck Is Going On Anonymous. But no. Life continued. The heroes had work to do. She had her mouth to keep shut.

She ran on.

She finally found the infirmary and upended a pile of granola bars and energy drinks from her backpack onto Recovery Girl's desk, saying a quick hi to the doctor as she did. She needed the fuel later when she was healing. Then she turned and almost dropped her backpack.

Principal Nezu smiled, waving his paw. "Good morning, Yokoyama."

"Good… morning…"

"I just want to make sure everything's alright."

She attempted nonchalance. "Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

The principal blinked once, calmly, and smiled again. "That's good to hear. I trust I don't need to say more than this."

"No," Kizuna said, and felt so awkward she blurted out: "Your fur is looking very shiny today."

"Why, thank you." Nezu gave a twirl for the audience, in his very trendy suit and orange sneakers, his tail trailing behind him. "I'm using a new shampoo treatment. Now, you should be heading off. The Sports Festival will be beginning soon."

"Kizuna-chan, are you participating?" Recovery Girl asked, surprised.

"Yeah, but I'll be out before you know it!"

"Is that wise?"

"I think it's important for her to try to live a normal life," Principal Nezu interjected. "You're young, Yokoyama. You have your whole life ahead of you to worry. Enjoy your high school years while you still can."

"That's just what All Might would say," Recovery Girl huffed, her wrinkled little mouth frowning. "Fine."

Kizuna was privately touched by how worried the doctor was about her. "I'll be okay, Recovery Girl. Anyway, I can't gain any more experience in a safe place like this. I need to be out there, with the Hero students!"

She was immediately mortified by this announcement, and raced out.

Two seconds later, Kizuna stuck her head back into the office.

"It's gonna be so ugly," she added. "I'll come back with all my bones broken. Limbs akimbo. Decapitated."

"I'll keep a bed empty for you," Recovery Girl said.

* * *

There was a static in the air.

It crackled in 1-B's prep room, where they were huddled around Monoma Neito, with his heavy-lidded eyes and smirk as he spoke quietly and motioned with his hands like he was relaying a battle plan. They stopped when they saw the healer from General Studies passing by their door.

But instead of slamming the door shut, like they might've if she'd been from 1-A, they waved. Setsuna called her over. Kinoko asked if she had more treats. Tetsutetsu asked if General Studies was ready to get their asses kicked, to which she replied, "We were born ready, baby."

Itsuka asked if she was participating after all. Kizuna answered in the affirmative. Then she clapped her hands in a prayer. "Please make my life easy and don't get hurt too badly out there."

1-B grinned and replied that they wanted to eat more of her sweets when this was over.

* * *

The static crackled through the hallway.

It charged when she bumped into a tall, scarred boy, who hardly spared a glance at her. What little of Todoroki's expression that she saw before he turned his head away looked grim. He really was just walking right past her, wasn't he? Like she was an itinerant piece of wall. Fine. She was perfectly happy ignoring him, too. Even though she was _certain_ Endeavor was in the stadium…

Her footsteps reversed.

"Did Fuyumi and Natsuo come?" Kizuna asked, following at a safe distance. "Probably not, it looks like there's mostly heroes out there…"

He ignored her.

"Good luck, Todoroki. Not that you need it, but…"

He kept ignoring her.

"Are you… having fun in UA? Making friends? You know, I was talking to Midoriya the other day. He's in your class, and he's really nice, and…"

Todoroki stopped.

Then he swung around. He was nearing her, and then he wasn't stopping; he walked her backwards, and then her elbows hit something solid, and then her ankles did, and then her back pressed into the wall. His shoulders took up all her vision, and then it was that mottled, twisted scar. She was forced to look up, and this was an excellent situation on paper; Kizuna was about to tell him to impress her with a kabedon.

But his grey-green eyes were blisteringly cold, freezing her to the spot. His hands remained at his side. Tense. Brittle. This wasn't funny anymore. All her little teasing jokes died in her throat.

"Don't mess with me. Not today."

She hadn't meant to. She was just trying to be nice.

Yuuka leaned against the wall right next to them, tall and willowy and eternally twenty-three, all-black, watching Todoroki with a smile on her face. Then she pressed her mouth to Kizuna's ear and hissed, "_Did he forget what you did for him?_"

Heat flushed up her face, and her first instinct was to open her mouth and retort with something cruel. But then she remembered that his ugly mood wasn't because of her. Sometimes you were just so mean to yourself that it bled out onto other people. Even if one those people was a girl he used to let—("_Momo, Tenya, and… Shouto!"_)—before growing up got too heavy.

She chewed on her lip, then extended her hand. "You're stronger now, _konru-po_. We could try again."

He looked down at her hand, then back at her eyes. It felt like he was looking at her for real for the first time in a very long time, shimmery lavender nails and all. Todoroki's clenched fists uncurled and he averted his gaze, the motion abrupt and tense.

"Or not," Kizuna amended. She pulled back her hand and scratched her collarbone instead. "We'd have to go on the run together. Hunt squirrels in parks. You'll criticize my cooking and won't even do any of the laundry."

His eyes closed briefly, and he turned around.

Then, over his shoulder: "Don't offer me your help. And don't get in my way."

All hail Prince Frost. Kizuna leaned against the wall, rubbing her chilly hands together to warm them. Standing next to her with her arms crossed, Yuuka murmured that it was a shame; he'd been such a cute kid before it went to shit. Then she grinned, the scar across her face jumping. "Just like you, mataki."

* * *

The air was much less crackly around 1-C, who were honestly just trying to make it through the day.

Kizuna jogged up to them as they were lining up outside the prep room. She squeezed next to Shinsou, who glanced at her as though he hadn't expected seeing her there. Then he nodded slightly, as if approving her decision.

Chikuchi whipped her head around, two low pigtails hitting her in the face, and hissed, "Yokoyama! Got your bat? And your switchblade?"

"_Apparently_, they're against the _rules_." Rolling her eyes, she pulled her hair into a spiky little half-ponytail, getting the strands around her face out of her way.

Kumoko pouted. "Aw."

"If they wanted to make the Sports Festival a fair fight," grumbled Agoyamato, "they'd let General carry flamethrowers and chainsaws."

Shinsou stuffed his hands in his pockets. "People aren't born fair. But we'll make do with what we've got."

"That was hot, Shinsou!" The other guys smacked the stoic boy on the back.

He touched his neck. Shinsou had gained the admiration of the entire male population of General Studies after his little declaration of war to 1-A. It was terribly macho, and Kizuna was jealous. She wanted someone to call her sexy and then pinch her butt for good luck before she rode off into battle. That was the stuff of champions.

The salt-and-pepper-haired detective cleared his throat, leaning on his cane. "We're here," Goro told his class, "to have a good time! To have fun! We're here to take our losses like a champ! Some jerks will say General Studies are goons and battle fodder for the kids in Hero Studies!"

"And maybe we are!" yelled Ishizaki. "So what!?"

"Atta boy, Ishizaki!" Goro yelled, his trenchcoat whipping dramatically behind him. "So what!? That don't mean we can't enjoy ourselves! We get school off for two days after this, so we're gonna have a nice break! We're gonna eat sushi! Treat ourselves to mani-pedis! Watch anime until midnight! And then we're gonna come back to school refreshed and get back to work! Ain't that right!"

"_Hell yeah, Goro-sensei_!" 1-C bellowed, Kizuna screaming among them.

"I said, _ain't that right_!?"

"HELL YEAH, GORO-SENSEI!"

Hero Studies was announced first. 1-A and 1-B. The ground rumbled. The arena roared, rising to their feet to catch a better glimpse of the freshman Hero class that had fought off the villains that attacked UA. The air crackled and trembled.

General Studies was next.

The crescendo built.

Like a commander raising the signal for his outmaneuvered and outgunned soldiers to charge, Goro told his students to lose with dignity.

* * *

The first step Kizuna took out onto the grass was like entering a different world.

The stadium sparkled with blinding lights.

People were crammed tight in the stands, and they looked like one entire ocean of color, the faces indistinctive. Present Mic's voice boomed from every direction. Cameras attached to drones whirled around, filming the students walking out onto the field. The arena was surprisingly warm due to the body heat generated by so many people gathered in one area, but her hands were clammy and ice-cold.

"We're just here to make the others look good." Ishizaki nodded at all the cameras focusing on the Hero kids.

"Hard to get motivated," Mitsu said with an affected exhaustion, and the other girls reminded her to just have a good time.

Kizuna could barely hear herself think. Her mouth was so very dry. She was committed to participating, but… a tiiinnyyy voice in her head whispered that maybe this was a mistake. She didn't want to be seen by this many people. She didn't care how childish it sounded; it was _fucking scary._

Shinsou's calm voice cut through the tumult: "I can hear you second-guessing yourself."

"I'm not panicking. Did you say panicking? …Shut up. How are you so calm?"

"It's all performative, Yokoyama," he said, not taking his eyes off of the Hero classes. He was reaching towards something, straining towards it.

Kizuna realized she was slowing down, falling behind, and walked faster to catch up to him.

They took their place on the field as Midnight stood on the stand. Kizuna glanced around, wondering if she imagined feeling the gazes from the Hero teachers standing off to the side. Vlad King. Cementoss. Ectoplasm. Were they looking at the Hero kids, or were they squinting at her? It was hard to tell. She tried waving at Momo and Iida and Midoriya, but they were focused on Midnight. Even rosy-cheeked Ochako looked deadly serious. Kizuna wiped her sweaty palms on her jacket. She hoped Ekashi was watching. She hoped he found the right channel on his tv.

The gates to the obstacle course clanked open.

Kizuna remembered the sensation of falling from the roof of the world. She breathed in, calming herself.

Overhead, the cameras whirled. This was modern-day gladiatorial combat. Every television across the country would be tuned in to watch UA play its war games. She braced herself to run, her Air Force 1's digging into the dirt, nerves turning into adrenaline. _No guts, no glory._

She had never thought she was particularly capable of anything, especially not compared to Yuuka. Even if it took five, ten, twenty years, she was going to claw her way up to heroism her own way. She was going to do it so the world could remember Tutari. And if, hypothetically, there were villains out there who killed her sister, who were watching? Fine. Let them find her again. It was like those so-called photographers, snapping photos of the UA girls; she didn't draw first blood. They did. She was only biting back. They got their reckoning.

She wanted those villains to find her, so she could bite their fucking heads off once and for all.

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_a heart's a heavy burden._

miyazaki hayao

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**notes.** i hope you're all staying safe and taking care of yourselves! i'm just trying to stay sane with fic writing.

broke: general studies is salty that they couldn't get into hero studies. woke: general studies is well aware they have plenty of opportunities to work closely with heroes/the judicial system once they graduate, so they don't break a sweat over the sports festival. (shinsou is an outlier and should not be counted)

it was so fun writing izuku and kizuna interactions… kizuku… or green mountain (midoriyama!)… i'm contractually bound to say that momo and kizuna are… moki… perhaps yaoyoko… and ochako and kizuna are… kizocha… and iida and kizuna have to be ii tenki (nice weather)! these names are so cute i just wanna squish them like little potatoes huhu. anyway, next chapter: [image of kizuna getting kicked around like a deflated volleyball]

comments that made me go, "hehe":

**guest**: kizuna: *sits in the middle of the street* kizuna: *is actually surprised someone walked into her*  
**arkeisios**: omg shinsou...babie...tired angy baby...  
**aliathe**: SCREAMS WITH HER

glossary

ainu

_ku eramuan_: i know  
_iyohai_: oh dear  
_iwendep_: demon  
_iyotta irannakka ruwe an_: a super nuisance  
_konru-po_: little ice  
_ekashi_: grandfather  
_mataki_: little sister

japanese

yamada hanako: a "jane doe" equivalent


	6. ouch! ouch! ouch!

**notes.** forgot to mention since kizuna isn't in 1-A and it wasn't necessary to expand upon, but mineta doesn't exist in this fic. or maybe he did, and he was expelled on the first day. does it matter? no, no it doesn't.

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**I CARRY YOUR HEART**

OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!

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It was at least mostly dry inside that shitty-ass hideout, away from the late-summer thunderstorm.

He was following her, the grey man. Watching where she stood, how she stood, the careful movements she made as she glanced around. His ratty-ass black clothes and those blood-red sneakers drifted in her peripheral vision.

She was dripping a little, in his room (ostensibly, it was a room; it might've also been a mausoleum where dusty things came to die). Her bare feet were rain-muddy and her hair clawed a soaking white river around her neck. She was shivering, her hands digging into her sweater for something to hold, her shorts and everything else uncomfortably damp from the rain.

Kizuna looked around slowly, trying to keep him in her eyesight, but also taking in the overall… horrid sunless grime of the place. A light _plink-plink-plink_ echoed somewhere, a bucket catching drops from the leaky, moldy ceiling.

Now _there_ was a serial killer's desk. Photos. News article clippings. Piles and piles of junk.

One photo caught her eye. She reached for it… and the floorboards groaned as he lurched across his tomb.

But it was only to sprawl across a beat-up chair with a broken spinning wheel, his legs splayed, arms dangling off the side: an oozing black puddle. Glancing again at the photo, Kizuna angled it to the light coming from the grimy, rain-streaked window.

_Oh_, she thought. _Forever ago_.

It was her, during the Sports Festival that spring. A girl with her head shaved clean, all light-grey fuzz, her arms bandaged up to her shoulders. (A similarly bandaged hand, in the present-time, winced, remembering Mina's acid.) Her eyes were narrowed, fangs on full display. She looked like she was having fun. It _had_ been fun, back then.

Her fingers tenderly brushed over it… then set the photo face-down.

_But I won't look back_. Here she stood, dripping in Shigaraki's crypt, and him the king of death sitting before her on his shitty office chair. _Only forward._

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(The name Yokoyama could be read as 'next to the mountain'.

She practiced her calligraphy by writing it over and over, the kanji for _beside_ and _mountain_. The wet ink of _yama_ bled outward. Three lines signifying three peaks reaching towards heaven, one more connecting them to earth.)

"_Ice_! Look out!"

"Oh, thank god, it's over," said the rest of 1-C in relief, their feet frozen to the ground.

Zero-pointer robots crashed down in icy pieces, Todoroki leading the charge. More robots ruptured into pieces, wires and parts flying through the air. Ripped steel, voltage, flashy acrobatics.

(The Yokoyama clan never had a hero agency of its own and worked as sidekicks to the mountains of their era. Always standing in the shadows of the great heroes they supported. Even Yuuka—she jumped from agency to agency, helping whichever hero needed her the most. She'd been the closest to the sun, had her face warmed by that light.

Before she cracked, of course, dribbling all over the floor.)

Her sister whispered, "You need a plan."

Kizuna scrambled away from robot debris as Jiro Kyoka easily blasted it apart. _Fuck that, I need a better Quirk!_

"You need to be clever, mataki, you need a…"

She followed her sister's extended finger, and found a spiky black ponytail in the chaos.

(Yokoyama. Beside the mountain. To the side. A sidekick.)

In the two weeks between the USJ incident and the Sports Festival, Kizuna hadn't undergone any sort of training as extensive as the Hero kids. However, there _was_ something special that she had cultivated—

"Momo! Use me!"

—bonds, both new and old.

There was a desperate brightness in Kizuna's eyes. She meant: _Help me. I can't do this alone._

Yaoyorozu Momo rarely backed down from an impromptu challenge. Strategies formulated in the heat of the moment; that was right up her alley. And belonging to such a famed Hero family, Momo had a valuable tenet of heroism drilled in her since young: we are not in this for ourselves.

Touching Creation was like seeing an old friend again.

* * *

They sat amongst the clouds: one with a black ponytail, cradling the sleeping head of the other in her lap, her wild dark hair curling around like a tangled net. Their hands were laced together, dreaming of creating moons, planets, worlds. The heroes that responded to the sudden appearance of a giant, colorful matryoshka doll that blocked the sun for half the neighborhood found two little girls at the very top of it.

* * *

The camera drones were far ahead, following Bakugou and Todoroki as they began the third leg, explosions and ice lighting up the sky.

The rest of 1-A and 1-B were in hot pursuit. Midoriya emerged onto the minefield, clutching his shield with a look of wild determination. As Present Mic gleefully commentated, the entire stadium was devoting their full attention on the leaders of the pack.

But a noise was sweeping over the back end of the obstacle course: the _whirrrr_ of a propeller, the hum of an Anzani three-cylinder engine.

Sunlight beamed across steel wings.

A small, lightweight Bleriot XI roared over the skies.

Two girls were packed in tight in the cockpit; sitting behind Momo with her knees up, Kizuna rested her head on her shoulder, breathing heavily. Momo fearlessly increased the thrust, stepping on foot pedals to control the rudder. The wind seared past them, rustling their dark blue PE uniforms and whipping their hair back.

Creation required information, imagination, and energy. Kizuna knew this because she explored this maze of DNA helixes and carbon chains before. She knew its rhythm, its taste, the almost balletic dance of its atoms. The conception of their duet was mostly barebones, with a wireframe tail; Exalt only needed to give Creation a significant boost when constructing the propeller and the historically-accurate engine Momo dreamt of.

Step One: Get a girl with knowledge of old-century aircrafts (preferably one whose mother had a whole collection out in the country).

Step Two: Apply battery.

Students making their way across the Fall heard it first. They craned their necks up, jaws dropping. The burst of wind from the aircraft's flight shook the tightropes and drew a plume of white over the obstacle course.

The plane rattled, the seat underneath Kizuna jolting, bumping over turbulence. No, not turbulence.

"What was that?" cried Momo.

A crafty, pink-haired Support student had clambered on the wireframe tail. Using her Zoom Quirk, Hatsume Mei had spotted the aircraft gaining speed over the obstacle course and launched her grappling hook at it; now here she was, grinning maniacally. "Par excellence, hero! What a fabulous invention! Though I would've replaced the Anzani with my own model—"

Kizuna's groggy eyes spotted something. "Mei! Can I see that super cool grappling hook again? Can you aim it down there? Where that purple guy is? Momo, hard to starburst!"

"What—you mean _starboard_?"

"Oh, you're so smart," she simpered, "thank you."

"You're in love with my baby, aren't ya!" Mei hooted. "I'm not surprised!"

"Hurry, we're gonna pass him!" Kizuna pressed her cheek to Momo's. A fanged leer. "What's so bad about helping a friend?"

"In the Sports Festival? It's utterly unorthodox and don't _look_ at me like that, I know I'm not doing my argument any favors." The plane veered sideways.

A boy with his brainwashed mob was slowly working their way through the tightropes. Shinsou almost fell off as a metal arrow smashed into the rock right over his head, and he turned at the sight of three girls onboard an aircraft, the white-haired one waving in the cockpit and screaming illegibly. Still staring as if he was witnessing a trick of sunlight, his hand reached up and clenched around the wire.

"Can you reel it in, Mei!?"

"Of _course_, it's so simple—"

They plucked him up like a bird seizing breakfast.

Momo hastily leveled the aircraft as Shinsou wildly kicked onto the wing, and Kizuna yelled over the roar of the propeller that there'd been a change of plans. There was something very funny about Shinsou's surprised face: the usual blasé indifference went slack, and his eyes were wide and violet.

On the minefield, students gaped at the aircraft speeding past their competition. The plane lurched again.

A strip of tape had wound itself around the tail, and Sero Hanta was grinning with his funny-looking grin. A long tongue unraveled, and Asui Tsuyu was sticking to the plane with her froggy hands.

"Damn, you made a whole plane?" Sero shouted. "That's class, Yaoyorozu!"

"Yaoyorozu-chan, you're peerless," Tsuyu remarked.

The Bleriot dropped, stuttering.

"Oh," Sero remarked. "That don't sound good."

"Because we're not a bus!" Momo cried back exasperatingly. "We're too heavy! I'm landing!"

Shinsou narrowed his eyes at Sero and Tsuyu. He opened his mouth—

Kizuna shouted at the rest, "Hey, be careful! Hang on!"

Momo controlled the rudder as they began their swift descent. The needle on the tachometer shook hysterically. The piston engine chugged. The finish line was approaching, and Kizuna could hear the stadium thundering, someone already winning the race.

Right as they were about to hit the ground, the aviatrix pulled up and the world tilted.

Wheels skidded on dirt. Tetsutetsu and Kirishima, running there, threw themselves to the ground. The Bleriot bounced violently, nearly bucking its occupants off. The tail hit the ground, sparks flying, and broke off completely. Sero, Tsuyu, and Mei were flung into the air.

Shinsou watched, a small wicked curve to his mouth. Kizuna threw herself over the back, extending her hand, yelling at them to grab on. Tsuyu caught a flailing Mei with her tongue, and Sero caught Tsuyu with tape from one arm and Kizuna's wrist with the other.

She lurched forward, stomach slamming into metal. "Ow, _fuck_—help!"

Indigo eyes flashed at her, a half-second pause, then—Shinsou grabbed the tape with both hands, straining, and with a great heave, they yanked the other three students back onto the plane. He lost his balance right on top of Kizuna, arm over leg over sweaty purple hair, and she gave up knowing anything but the sound of wheels screeching in protest and threw her life into Momo's hands.

The wings were too wide, and they snapped against the gate.

Present Mic was hollering, "RACERS CROSS THE FINISH LI—" His eyes popped over his sunglasses. "_EXCUSE ME, AN AIRPLANE!?_"

The cameras, which had been trained on the victorious students, now whirled their lenses at the early-twentieth century aircraft that exploded into the arena, half-collapsed, brakes squealing, smoke and exhaust billowing behind it, and the crowd jumped to their feet with deafening applause.

The Hero students moved fast.

Todoroki slashed his hand and ice shot up, curving into ramp for the plane to slide across before it ran into the wall. Bakugou exploded off his feet to avoid getting smashed into. Ibara's vines and Tokoyami's Dark Shadow grabbed the plane to slow it down, as Sero threw his tape at Todoroki's ice to do the same, and Honenuki softened the ground, helping it stop. Mei jumped off the burning plane with her jetpack, cackling.

Kizuna peeled her cheek from Shinsou's shoulder, coughing and waving away smoke. He was lying sideways in the tight space, blinking, his legs sticking out over the cockpit's side. Midoriya stood on a broken wing, shouting at her to take his hand, and Iida was there too, helping a dizzy Momo out of the plane.

"INNNNNCONCEIVABLE! A DYNAMO ENTRANCE FROM HERO, GENERAL, AND SUPPORT STUDENTS!"

Her feet met solid ground, jelly legs staggering against Midoriya. His hand was at her waist, helping her stand, and a white-haired shadow was on her other side, bracing a weightless hand against her back. Covered in exhaust fumes, Kizuna took in the flashes of light and cheering crowd. Robotic fire hoses spraying down the plane. Present Mic screaming something about teamwork and astonishment and Pro Heroes who were astonished about teamwork.

She didn't realize she had closed her eyes until she felt someone slapping her on the face.

"Ow, _ow_…" Kizuna had been pulled to the side by a fretful-looking Momo.

"I knew it," she said accusingly. Her cheeks were flushed, dark eyes bright. "I _told_ you it was going to make you tired."

"You're right." Yawning blearily, she sucked in a breath and blew at the long errant bang hanging over Momo's face. "You're always right. How come I never listen to you?"

"In one ear, out the other." Momo knocked on her skull.

With grave solemnity, Kizuna said, "Ouchie."

"I remember you once said you don't use your Quirk anymore." Momo studied her as if she were a pigeon who flew the coup and came back four years later entirely alien.

"I also once said I'd rather eat my own farts than attend UA—I'm kidding! That was a joke! I love this school. I… fucking love zero-point robots…"

She pursed her lips at the choice of language. "Well, wouldn't it stand to reason that the more you use it, the less tired you become? Like exercising muscles so they build up stronger."

"Maybe," Kizuna said, ignoring Exalt's rapid _yesyesyesyesyesyes_. "Anyway, thanks."

"It's only logical."

She smiled luminously at her, eyebrows raising.

"Oh." Momo blinked, then replied with a gracious tilt of her head, "You're very welcome."

The forty-second participant zoomed in with a flash of a laser. Clutching his stomach, Aoyama Yuga twinkled. Midnight told them all to catch their breath before starting the next round. Students were shouting about the plane they all saw soaring over the obstacle course.

She moved away from the center of a tornado that Momo had found herself in, a barrage of 1-A students chattering about that plane and how cool their class representative was with her powerful Quirk, even helping out non-Hero students along the way. Momo met her gaze over her classmates' shoulders, a silent question in there.

Kizuna shook her head and lifted her chin in a slight nod. _This is all yours, hero._

* * *

Fifteen minutes to make a team.

Itsuka came over to ask if Kizuna wanted to join her squad. Then Ochako waved at her, desperately hunting for more teammates with Midoriya, who seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Kizuna already knew who she wanted to support, and did not saunter over to him so much as sluggishly teetered.

Ojiro Mashirao from 1-A. Shoda Nirengeki from 1-B.

Kizuna snapped her fingers in their blank faces. "Nefarious. Sinister. Spicy. I _like_ it." Her smirk slid into something more hesitant. "But what if you… maybe, tried asking them?"

Shinsou's brow furrowed.

"They couuuuld say yes."

His eyes closed. With another twitch of his brow, Ojiro and Shoda blinked awake.

"Join my team," Shinsou said. Kizuna did jazz-hands, an invisible 'General Studies: We're Cool, Too!' above her head.

"I was actually planning on joining," Ojiro began—

"_Stand still._ And you?"

Shoda started. "No, I—"

"_Don't move_." Thus, Shinsou looked at his classmate.

"…Oh," said Kizuna.

"I'm not using them just to lose," he said, more to the air than her. "I'm bringing them to the next round with me."

She was sure Ojiro and Shoda had prepared for this day. Their families were watching. They didn't want to let themselves down. But… it was the same for Shinsou. And it was the same for her.

Kizuna, whose principles fell in the 'have fun and don't get arrested' quadrant of morality, tightened her ponytail. "Then let's do this."

"No one in the Hero course you'd rather support?" he said indifferently.

They shared this goal; it was _personal_. Kizuna extended her hand. "General Studies."

Something passed over that dark gaze. He took a breath.

Shinsou lifted his hand out of his pocket and grasped hers, their palms striking together.

* * *

Third place. _Third place_.

Kizuna, who had fully prepared herself to lose in the qualifiers, dropped to her knees in flat-out shock, somehow hearing her grandmother spit tea at the tv screen and sob to her husband that their idiot granddaughter might actually make something of herself.

Calling after them, she caught up to Ojiro and Shoda on the field as everyone headed inside for lunch. They were both flummoxed, but their unremembered victory seemed to set in as she bowed her head and apologized. She couldn't really believe it, either.

Shinsou had gone on ahead, but she thought she saw him glancing at her talking to the Hero boys.

"Did he also do something weird to you, Yokoyama?" Ojiro asked tepidly, his long tail sitting on his shoulder.

An awkward, semi-jokey grin pulled at her mouth. "I could totally lie and say I was, _but_—that'd be very shitty of me. I wasn't. Shinsou and I are classmates."

The stout, blue-haired Shoda looked down. Ojiro said, "Well, I'm glad you made it through. On your own power."

Her grin dropped. _No, not at all_—it was on the tip of her tongue, but at the startlingly gloomy expression on Ojiro's face, she couldn't bring herself to say it. Kizuna held her arms behind her back, watching them leave. _Ku yaiyapapu_. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Thank you.

Kizuna went off to find the shortcut to the infirmary. Lunch could wait; she desired to collapse like a bedridden old-century dowager whimpering about her delicate constitution.

Yawning, Kizuna stumbled through the stadium hallways, and then realized she was going toward the student waiting rooms. She wobbled around, dragging her heavy limbs with her, eyes scratchy and heavy. These stupid hallways all looked the same.

After waffling about for a few seconds, she decided to head to 1-C's prep room after all. Hard plastic chairs were better than nothing. But those few seconds were precious, and instead of sashaying away in her imagined petticoats, she heard a cold voice say: "You overwhelmed me. So much so that I broke my pledge."

She froze, hands splayed against the wall, inches away from turning the corner and bumping into the prince of frost.

Another voice sounded, uneasy and awkward: Midoriya's.

"What is this, a stand-off?" Yuuka whispered, her long white hair suffused with purple shadows. "Or maybe a confession? How cute! Two youthful lads, in the springtime of their love…"

_Oh my god, sapo, I can't hear._

What followed did not help: a hand reaching out, clamping over her mouth.

There was a brief but soundless scuffle of limbs as they elbowed each other and stepped on feet. As the serious conversation continued, the two of them warred silently; Bakugou was victorious and yanked her flush against him. He pressed his finger to his mouth, then viciously slashed his thumb across his neck in warning.

Was he threatening to _kill her_ if she wasn't quiet? Kizuna glared back over his sulfur-smelling palm, shaking her head in exaggerated disappointment. Snooping? How unheroic! (Yes, she was also guilty of it, but this was not about her.)

"There's definitely something you're hiding. You know, my father is Endeavor. The second greatest hero of all time."

His voice was ice. Kizuna blinked quickly, feeling hoar frost growing on her lashes.

She could feel Bakugou's heart pounding against her back, the spike of it when Todoroki said _raised me as a hero who could exceed All Might, just to fulfill his own ambitions_, and the small intake of breath at her ear when he said, _she threw scalding water in my face_. They stared at the ground, completely still, hardly breathing statues. She felt immense pity for Midoriya. Having to look at Todoroki, having to see that scar…

She wondered if she had imagined it, that flash of fire, the almost-smoke during the Cavalry Battle.

"What a dramatic origin story," Yuuka whispered loudly.

_Can you please fucking eshi_.

"We're all thinking it. Yours isn't so bad either. Dead siblings are a natural tearjerker."

Her fangs bit through skin. Bakugou's skin. Bakugou's hand.

A trail of red ran down his palm and wrist. Blood dripped as he gripped her mouth painfully hard, his glower burning a hole in her skull. Gagging, Kizuna silently spat out the metallic taste (she was used to biting her lip, forgetting for a moment—), and quickly grasped his hand to heal it. His Die a Thousand Deaths Glare was eviscerating her into dust and she mouthed back, 'Sorry! Sorry, okay!' but it didn't stop his hand from warming uncomfortably—_he's gonna explode my head off, this is how I die_—meanwhile, Todoroki was still talking.

"So much angst." Yuuka glimmered in amusement. "Where does he put it all? A cardboard box marked 'trauma' in the Todoroki house? Endeavor opens it every Sunday to dump more pieces of his kids inside."

Kizuna's mouth pulled in a hysterical smile against the hot, bloody, sulfur-hand, and she couldn't even see Bakugou looking at her like she had sprouted a mutant head. The edge of the world swam, ice-blue koi fish leaping out, snow-covered bamboo trees in the rippling reflections. Todoroki went off, his footsteps sounding. Midoriya spoke up, his voice ringing loud and clear. All modesty, all _because other people helped me_, and yet another declaration of war.

War, bombast, blood. What she'd give to hear them challenge each other to an afternoon tea party.

Then, movement at her back. Bakugou glanced out behind the corner, checking to make sure the two had left.

They had. At the sound of their voices fading, Kizuna yanked herself away and staggered over to the wall opposite, furiously wiping away the blood along her mouth. Then her gaze wavered up to the boy standing in front of her. The line of his body was angry, hard. He clenched his fist, looked down at it, studying the dried blood and the two healed scars on the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

She pressed her arm across the lower half of her face, hiding behind it.

With an irritated glare, lips curling in to show teeth that seemed to be profoundly lacking bloodstains, Bakugou swiped his hand over his jacket and moved for the exit.

Kizuna reached out for a hand—but her fingers met the cold metal wall. The shadows were only shadows now, and none of them had white hair. Something came over her. "I," she said, before she could stop herself, "don't understand this stupid obsession with being the best."

Her voice was quiet, but it filled the cavernous distance between them.

He didn't stop walking, but he slowed down. "That's why you're in General, sidekick."

"He had a family," she went on, ignoring the jibe. "A wife and kids. A good livelihood…" She looked at him expectantly, searching for an answer she wanted to hear. "Would you give up your soul to be the top hero?"

"Soul." He had stopped, everything drenched in disdain.

"_Ramat._ Heart. Love. Stuff that makes us human." Supposedly.

"And this comes from a petty thief—"

"Oh, says the tyrant."

"Spare me your corny-ass lecture."

"What are they teaching you in the Hero course?" She was moving after him before she fully realized it. "Turn you into mini-Endeavors who only care about winning?"

He was digging his thumb into the spot where his eye socket met his brow, like he was fighting off a headache from her voice. "I'm here to beat the shit out of villains. Can't speak for anyone else. Especially not his fucking dad."

"And then what?" She was so close all she could see was that churlish scarlet. _Easy, easy_, the sensible part of her worried; the other half demanded, _Can't he emote just a little sadness for this fucked-up competitiveness?_ "You die young, or retire with permanent brain damage, or turn into status-obsessed monsters?"

He rolled his head back, the muscles in his neck contorting as he inhaled, and then snapped, "Shit, you're exhausting. If you don't want to be a hero, then get outta the ring!"

"I didn't say—" Hating how her cheeks burned, Kizuna breathed hard through her nose. "That's not what I meant."

"Heroes don't whine; we do. If you got a problem, maybe quit your bitching and do something about it."

"Great idea, I'll just explode things until I get my way." She held up her palm, demonstrating her immense lack of anything.

"You, Four Eyes, Ponytail, Half n' Half. You elitist pricks all know each other."

"What does that—"

"That plane was you. She ain't strong enough do it on her own." Bakugou jerked his head and said roughly, "Tell that to your victim complex."

A horrid heat rose to her face. Her short hair was practically standing up on end, electrified white. "You don't _know_ Yaoyorozu Momo," Kizuna snapped, venom leaking from radioactively pink eyes. For some reason, this cooled his expression as if seeing something he expected—or worse, _wanted_. It inflamed her further and she spat, "Insult her again and you're a dead man."

With that very badass and awe-inspiring threat made, she threw herself against the wall for purchase, her face magenta and veiny with the effort to stay conscious, and limped away with aplomb.

(Later, Kizuna would snap awake at three am and wonder frantically if that had been his awful way of saying she wasn't powerless at all. She would consider this for precisely five seconds, roll her eyes at the ceiling, and smush her face into her pillow with a disbelieving huff.)

* * *

An ungainly thing dumped herself on the seat next to Shinsou, and he moved his food away before her head could fall in it.

The healer snored.

* * *

"When he comes at you with a punch, don't try to block it. Dodge. Run away! No matter what, _do not_ get hit by Midoriya."

The two of them were out in the back of the stadium, Kizuna grimly shoving shitty emergency granola bars in her mouth, hating herself for sleeping through lunch, and Shinsou sitting against a tree. But she wasn't going to let anything distract her, harrowing eavesdropping incidents or otherwise.

Ojiro and Shoda had both withdrawn. Kizuna, confronted with her own meager sense of integrity, had bowed her head at the 1-B students, telling them she couldn't do the same because she really wanted to get into the Hero course. But they were understanding. Itsuka reminded her that if Shiozaki or Tetsutetsu fought her, it'd be an easy win for 1-B. Kizuna saluted. She looked forward to dying against them.

"You should brainwash him early." Midoriya had the backing of All Might and he was getting declarations of war (or love confessions, was there a difference?) from strong guys left and right; it was totally fair if she helped Shinsou a little. Such were the laws of equality. "Don't let it become a physical match. That shorty has super-strength."

"I misjudged them. I didn't think they'd withdraw."

She stopped pacing. Shinsou's gaze met hers, then darted away. And he had seemed so unconcerned earlier, brushing it off without even a glance at Ojiro and Shoda…

"It was right in front of them." He tugged at his hair. "Who cares how they got there?"

She kicked at a leaf. "You could apologize to them. I did."

"…Sounds tiresome."

_Sounds tiresome_, said the same boy who demanded 1-A meet him on the fields of combat. Kizuna rolled her eyes at Yuuka, who was watching them from the shade of another tree, her dark pink eyes gleaming.

"Midoriya Izuku," Shinsou said, breaking her reverie, "what's he like?"

"We've… only talked a few times. But he's good-hearted. A total hero."

"Of course he is, with a Quirk like that."

_Oh_. Kizuna raised her brows at the note of bitterness. She walked in a little circle around what she had dubbed Shinsou's Tree, because even the leaves were now falling with a sort of Machiavellian shrewdness, and sat in front of him, knees tucked up. "Want me to help ya cheat?"

She measured his startled reaction. Some people viewed help as an insult to their pride. Some thought Exalt was shameful. Which it was, of course. Still, it was hers.

"If you tie a strand of my hair around your finger," she wiggled her pinky, "I can heal you. Even standing far away. It's only a one-time use, though. I could also… make you stronger."

"…How?"

"Magic." She pretended to blow out fairy-dust, fingers sparkling.

Shinsou looked back, deadpan.

Nibbling on her lip, Kizuna twisted a fallen blossom between her fingers. Its small stem glowed white, and the limp petals sprang back up, slightly more vivid than before. Won't last more than a few hours before it started dying again. She crinkled the flower between her fingers and let it fall.

"There are… two parts to my Quirk," she told him. "I can heal people, and I can… sort of, make other Quirks stronger. Momo's plane in the Obstacle Race…"

He scrutinized her, gears whirring behind an indigo blink. "That was you?"

"Just a little," Kizuna said too quickly. "I'm overselling myself. Anyway, it makes me pretty tired. That's why I slept through most of lunch." She examined her hands, the tanned hue and chipped purple nails. "It's kinda weird, though… I used a lot of my Quirk, but…" She abruptly closed her mouth and shrugged. "It's not that bad, so… if you want me to give you a boost…"

Her eyes glittered, soft and coaxing.

"Is this some kind of deal with the devil type of shit?"

Kizuna snapped, "No, and for the record, I prefer 'benevolent fucking angel'."

Shinsou locked his fingers together, looking at the falling leaves with an expression she would've once deemed 'evil handsome gargoyle plots world domination', but she now knew was 'evil handsome gargoyle thoughtfully considers which cat sticker to send over text'. "Feels like you're helping me too much, Yokoyama."

"We're in the same class. And we're friends." She said _friends_ pointedly, daring him to try to undo their eternally pledged (in Kizuna's mind) friendship.

"You know some Hero students."

"And?"

Shinsou tilted his head back with a half-closed look, as if the word _hero_ outweighed everything.

Kizuna thought of her father. A sidekick his whole life, he never cared about rankings or fame, only how much of himself he could give to others. She never agreed with infinite altruism, considering it got her dad killed. But he was right, to some extent. It was the brand of heroism she both admired and hated.

"There are things more important than being totally self-serving. Not a lot. But some."

Sometimes, despite the occasional evidence that said otherwise, people were kaleidoscopic. Color and glitter and sparkle, if you peered close and tilted your head just the right way.

The fleeting expression passing over Shinsou made the kaleidoscope turn in shades of dazzling purple.

He told her a little about Nabu Middle School, and the kaleidoscope turned again.

She pressed her chin into her elbows, a nasty twisty feeling in her chest. '_A Quirk perfect for a villain.'_ Oh, so he had heard that line a thousand times before. She'd been cruel _and_ unoriginal; a cardinal sin. A heavy flush pulled up her ears; she remembered how All Might looked, touching his hand to his heart.

"I really am sorry," she said softly, "for being a dickhead."

Shinsou did not respond to her contrition with a passionate pardon. His reply was, "You said that already."

"Yeah, well…" A pause. "Our Quirks come with… expectations, right? People expect you to be, like, weird and creepy, and me to be saintly and lovely and kind—"

"Zero out of three, huh."

She whacked him on the knee. "I was gonna say it's actually the other way around."

His eyes closed briefly. "You're off the mark about me."

"You pulled those Hero students back on the plane."

"I would've let them fall if you hadn't said anything. You saw it."

"But you didn't, dummy. That's what matters. And you forgave me, so… that's, like… y'know…"

An uncomfortable, embarrassed silence passed. At this point, Yuuka would've redirected the conversation with a charming joke, winning him over with her easiness and beauty. But Kizuna was only a pale, clumsy imitation of her sister.

"I grew up with a bad habit," she said carefully, short wisps of white falling over her face, "of wanting to be found… a little repulsive." Her smile twitched, a jerking motion, and then flatlined. Her face was red and she couldn't look at Shinsou; she had never told this to anyone except Yuuka. "Sometimes it grosses me out, how much people assume I'm good and… passive because of my Quirk. It's sort of a sickness."

_And if you give people a reason to hate you, you know why they leave_. She didn't say that. This was already embarrassing enough, and she needed to save some of her mysterious allure for a rainy day.

"I never found you repulsive," he replied, after a beat. "I just thought your insults were lazy."

"O_kay_—"

"Hey," Shinsou said, and she was immediately afraid he was going to take back everything.

But he did not sever Kizuna's mentally-constructed eternal pledge of friendship. "You said it on the first day of class. We're more than our Quirks. I would think that means we shouldn't be controlled by our feelings towards our Quirks, either." Shinsou's mouth twitched up, and with the simplicity of someone who had spoken these words a thousand times before, said, "I don't see the point in hating something I was born with."

She thought about that. She would be thinking about that for a long time to come.

He didn't, in the end, ask her to help him cheat. Win or lose, he would go by the strength of his own Quirk. Kizuna did the only thing she could do: she reminded him to use the bathroom before his match.

* * *

_Got him_.

She watched from the back exit of 1-C's stands, because she'd give herself away entirely if she was in the crowd. The two boys were broadcasted on the huge screens: one stoic and in total control, the other blank-faced, green eyes wide. Why didn't he tell Midoriya to _sprint_ out-of-bounds? This was too dramatic! _Shinsou!_

His fingers snapped. He stopped walking.

What the hell. That was his—how could it activate while brainwashed? What the hell kind of Quirk was that?

Shinsou was shouting, trying to get Midoriya to speak again. His words were no longer calculating; they were frantic, shouted at blistering volume. Midoriya ran across the arena, biting back a response, and Kizuna clapped her hands over her mouth so she, too, wouldn't scream, _I know you're the next Symbol of Peace, but can you just—can you just not—_

1-C was practically throwing themselves over the railings, screaming. 1-D and 1-E of General Studies were stomping their feet so hard the stands were shaking, and an approving roar resounded like a tsunami wave when Shinsou decked Midoriya across the face.

Kizuna clutched her hair as Midoriya regained his footing and fought back. _A shoulder throw! We've gone over that!_

Shinsou evaded with no elegance, and Midoriya was forced to curl his hand into a fist. A punch, straight across the face—jaw, cheek, nose, blam. Cameras zoomed in, getting all that blood in high-definition. The shorter boy grabbed Shinsou again, hands to heart, and flung him out-of-bounds.

Fuck. She dropped to her knees, head bent, exhaling.

Midoriya on the screens, gripping his throbbing hand and looking anything but victorious. He couldn't afford to lose, either. _I am here_, he had to tell the country, and All Might was watching, too. She knew that… she knew that, but…

The General Studies stands were quiet.

Then Ishizaki called: "You were awesome out there, Shinsou!"

"Almost!" Mitsu cried.

Kizuna joined in with the applause. Every General kid, and a good portion from Support and Business as well, clapped. The stands shook again as they cheered not for the Hero student who won, but for the General student who lost.

Then she waited.

Soon enough, after making his way up the stands, their classmates patting him on the back, he came over to the secluded back exit.

Shinsou looked at her over a bloody nose. It dripped, and he sniffed a little (in a very stoic and manly way).

Her hand passed over it, the ever-calm Neogenesis rearranging cartilage. He looked very tired. She rested her hand on his cheek, her thumb smearing the remnants of blood. His fists uncurled and swung wearily at his side. His head drooped, indifference breaking, all the frustration and disappointment blazed through as he screwed his eyes shut.

She tentatively, gently smoothed her palm over his brow, a calming gesture Yuuka used to do for her, and drew him onto her shoulder. Exalt shivered, and nipped lightly at his Quirk. A sharp brain-freeze, joints stiffening, limbs locked, a puppet dancing on strings. It crackled like a message on the radio, mass persuasion sent through the air waves, murmuring, _Hello. Are you listening?_ She released Brainwashing, her head still crackling a little with radio static.

He had the bad luck to face a kid with All Might's Quirk. _I wish you'd know, Shinsou. It wasn't fair at all. But you were like a shooting star._

What she said was, "Your giant head's heavy. Stand up."

His knees staggered on purpose.

"_Yai_!"

* * *

The future All Might Junior, Symbol of Peace: the Remix, Wonderboy: First of His Name, House of the Constant Broken Bones sat next to Iida and… Kizuna glanced at the boy with the head of a black bird, and took a seat next to Tokoyami Fumikage. He was effortlessly cool, arms crossed, paying her no mind.

"Good job, Yokoyama," Iida greeted, "making it to the tournament round."

"After I lose my match, promise you'll feed me fries while I cry?"

"That is detestable," he answered serenely, "I will not."

"Boo. Ask Tensei for me?"

A crack appeared in Iida's glasses, and he launched on a rant about the sacred responsibilities of his heroic brother, Ingenium, which would never involve feeding fries to frivolous teenage girls whilst wearing a short toga and fanning her with a palm-leaf. He was busy in Hosu, anyway. Letting Iida tire himself out, Kizuna leaned around Tokoyami to stare at Midoriya. It had quite the effect with her slit-pupils, like she was trying to peel him open like a banana with the secrets of the universe inside.

"Planning on cooking Midoriya?" Tokoyami inquired. She glanced briefly at him and doubled back, gazing at the deep dark red of his eyes.

"You're onto me," she said after a vague pause. Kizuna leaned over Tokoyami—he coolly moved back, his arms still crossed—and peeled the bandages off Midoriya's broken fingers. "Here, you need your full strength against Todoroki."

"He still has to win against Sero," Midoriya reminded, because he was nice.

"Yeah." Kizuna fed the twisted bones with her energy, and her stomach groused. "Poor guy."

The ground cracked with ice. Todoroki fought as a master of technique: inevitable, perfect, bored, contemptuous, with total and exact precision of movement. It was surely bringing a few pros to tears.

A frozen staircase to the sky.

Frostbite, huh.

* * *

She made her way to the 1-B stands as they watched Iida and Mei perform an advertisement commercial. Glancing around the students (she could've sworn she saw a mess of purple talk to Shoda), Kizuna decided to sit next to Shiozaki Ibara. Offhandedly, she mentioned that she was raising succulents, and asked if Ibara had any tips with her experience in growing plants. She complimented her on her vines, how long and green they were, and _hey_, what an interesting idea, could those vines grow if they were potted?

"Like any other plant," Ibara said proudly. "My Quirk doesn't need to be consciously activated—only consciously controlled."

Kizuna smiled, and her switchblade glinted in her hand. "May I?"

Ibara allowed her to cut off a small piece of vine. "I have a fondness for that bread you baked… one good deed must beget another. Give it plenty of water and sunlight."

It was no longer than an inch. Neogenesis felt it first (older sisters, it's a hierarchy), the patchwork of radiant, thrumming energy in its cells, chloroplasts and green veins. Then Exalt. Kizuna studied it. This might actually work.

She pocketed the thorn with a quiet, "Thanks."

With that, she hurried on down to 1-C's prep room. She passed by Mitsu and Ishizaki and Agoyamato, and they solemnly told her they hoped her death would be quick and painless. Kizuna assured them they would not be invited to the funeral.

* * *

houlder, short white hair pulled into a tiny stub of a ponytail, and the bright pink girl from 1-A smiling confidently.

The crowd murmured their standard murmurings. How that Yokoyama was the younger one, not the brilliant Tutari, but the one with the Incident, and how sad it was that kids of her generation have grown up with terrible run-ins with villains. (Her case was by no means singular.) The Yokoyama would no doubt make a good sidekick. Ashido Mina, on the other hand, was an extremely promising young hero.

Wiping away crumbs from her mouth, Kizuna kept her eyes on the stands where 1-C congregated. Shinsou was leaning over the railing; meeting his eyes, the nerves in her stomach settled a bit.

Midnight cracked her whip, her excited smile gleaming, smelling faintly of evening poppies. "Let's make this a good fight, ladies!"

"AND FOR OUR FIRST WOMAN VERSUS WOMAN MATCH… IT'S THE FLASHY, ROSE-TINTED ASHIDO MINA OF THE HERO COURSE! VERSUS AN AGGRO HEALER WHO SURPRISED US ALL BY MAKING IT THIS FAR, YOKOYAMA KIZUNA OF GENERAL STUDIES!"

A lopsided smirk tugged at Kizuna's mouth before she bit it away.

"You don't fight, right? I'll go easy on you!" Mina declared, stretching her arms over her head.

Kizuna sized her up. She was a few inches shorter than her, with thin horns twisting up over light-rose hair. Mina held herself in a wide stance that didn't look like any particular martial art—Fatgum would call her a brawler, her hands clenched and her feet braced apart, straight-ahead. Very honest, no subtlety. Then again, with a Quirk like Acid, subtlety was entirely unnecessary.

Kizuna then adopted a meek simper. "I'd appreciate that," she murmured prettily, and the crowd hummed at such a bashful girl; what a pity, this soft-looking thing was going to get decimated on national television.

Present Mic yelled start, and Mina burst into a sprint.

"It's okay to lose," Yuuka said in her ear.

_I know._

"The truth is, heroism is sorrow. You can still walk away."

_Here's another truth: you never had that option. So neither will I._

Mina was so close she could see bright amber eyes in those black sclera.

Her feet moved, sliding like water over the dirt. Kizuna pivoted a hundred and eighty degrees. With both hands, she seized the outstretched wrist coming in for an uppercut, and used Mina's own momentum to flip her in a circle and slam her back-first into the ground.

* * *

Judo throws, grappling, submission holds. The art of reacting. A soft art. It was how Yuuka overpowered small-time villains with minimum violence, bar a few cracked collarbones or dislocated shoulders. The first thing Fatgum drilled into her was how to breathe. The second was footwork. The third was—oh, fuck, she didn't remember, every miserable, limpsy bone in her body was in pain.

"Last but not least, kid," he said, standing over Kizuna as she wheezed like a beaten dog on the training gym floor, "remember this: every decision you make is crucial! Whether running for your life or fighting an opponent, do not waste any time on hesitation!"

* * *

She just barely evaded the stream of acid. A few silver drops landed on her leg, burning _hothothot_ through the fabric. Flinching sharply, a green thorn between her fingers, she felt for the Quirk in there. A biblical fury. It whispered to Kizuna, _suffering is religious if you do it right_.

"Oooooh, you tricked me!" Mina huffed, rolling to her feet.

Kizuna touched her heart, her eyes curved in laughing slits. "No more tricks," she lied again, "promise."

She forced Vines into Exalt's mouth. _Light 'em up, shitty Quirk_.

Lightning chirped like a thousand sparrows.

(_we are pain, we are miracle,_ sang the choir,_ we are holy, we grow_)

The stadium screens showed the two combatants standing apart from each other, nothing particularly special happening.

One second later, the entire landscape exploded into green vines.

They seethed across the ruptured ground, climbing and urgent and _alive_. The crowd jolted as one, caught mid-practical joke. The vines rolled beneath the referee's stand and smashed up against the sides of the arena with a massive _boom_, making the stands shake, and Cementoss was on his feet, fortifying the walls with more concrete.

The few who were properly paying attention saw the snow-haired girl standing amidst the green, raising her vine like a sword, crackling with white sparks. But far more were spellbound by Mina flipping backwards with ease, spitting acid at the vines rampaging at her. She was a pink blur, dancing past the whipping thorns, until she vanished in the cloud of dust that covered the arena.

A few Pro Heroes were on their feet, demanding in confusion, just like Shinsou before her, why this girl was in General Studies. The Hero students stopped discussing Todoroki's powers and watched dumbly; what they thought was going to be a short, one-sided match of a powerless healer and an acid-girl was turning into something else entirely. 1-B yelled at Ibara if she was helping the healer cheat.

"I won't stand such sinful ideas!" A shocked Ibara raised her fist, demanding her thorns to stop, and they obeyed.

As for the General Studies healer, whose heartbeat was thundering in her ears: she was crouching behind the rubble. A silence had fallen. The crowd was miraculously quiet as if they too were trying to pick up on footsteps. Even certain overly-competitive boys in 1-A were leaning forward, squinting into the dust.

Kizuna had let go of the vines and brushed off her hands, shaking from adrenaline; they were back under Ibara's control. She had no more tricks up her…

…_Well, maybe one more._

Sneaking around, her fox-eyes dilated enormously and found dandelion-pink moving through the dust.

A white-blue blur jumped at Mina—but she dodged at the last second, and would've blasted Kizuna in the face with acid had she not also just tripped over a vine. It was so funny Kizuna almost fell on her ass with laughter. Spitting out dirt, Mina blindly sprayed the ground with acid—smart, putting a bit of the terrain back in her advantage—and Kizuna scrambled behind a large rock for shelter.

Mina was fast—she'd be faster than her on a good day, but in the dust, with her vision impaired, they were pretty much even.

"Ashido," Kizuna called in awe, "your reflexes are amazing!"

She spat acid at the rock Kizuna was hiding behind. "How'd you do that thing with vine-girl's vines? Get over here, you tricky-trickster!"

_Sorry, that is out of the question._ Kizuna ducked behind another rock, scampering away.

A few more rounds of hide-and-seek and the dust settled, the stadium visible once again. She peeked over her rock. In the center of the field, Mina was breathing hard, hands braced on her knees. Her skin seemed pinker. A little red, like a rash.

That acid must be depleted by now. Only one way to find out.

Kizuna bent back down, pressing herself against the rock, trying to psyche herself up even as dread rose up in her throat. She clutched the spot on her leg where a few drops of acid had landed earlier. The small red welts stung, hot and painful, and a full-body shiver wracked through her as she imagined more of that pain. Getting punched in the face was one thing, but this was acid. Mina's Quirk was—_scary_.

…But All Might had said it was okay to make mistakes, and the true enemy was not failure, but the fear of it.

Kizuna inhaled. She was going to sit in a bubble bath with a cream soda and a face mask when this was all over, and it was going to be splenderiffic.

"No guts," Yuuka whispered, beaming.

"No glory," she snarled out, and sprang over the rock, feet hitting ground, arms pumping.

But Ashido Mina, one of the fastest students in 1-A and the possessor of indomitable spirit, wasn't done yet. She put her palms together, cheeks puffed up with effort, and rained nuclear silver.

_Oh, come on!_ Yet Kizuna did not slow down.

She leaped right into it, holding her arms in an X shield over her head.

Her skin popped. A high, boiling whistle in her ears. Steam roiled off her shoulders like a cape of smoke. Her arms were singed, the fabric of her sleeves gone, hot and burning and caustic. Her short ponytail came undone, eaten away. She didn't really feel it, in the instant. She just thought: No matter how many times you fall, you are going to stand up again. You are going to be just like Yuuka.

_BY TUTARI'S GRACE, GO I—_

She threw her entire steaming body at Mina, wrapping her legs around the other girl's waist. Pivoting her weight backwards, she twisted her torso and slammed Mina into the ground with as much force as she could muster, and heard something _crunch_ in the takedown.

Sprawled across the vine-covered rocks, they gasped for breath. The air stank of irradiated chemical.

Kizuna peeled herself off the thorny ground and rolled away. She wiped her mouth—and touched a painful welt on her upper lip, cringing. Was she melting? A little. Her skin was red and raw, burning like a motherfucker. Ugh, trying. Trying was the _worst._ Trying felt like getting stung by a hundred bees, then rubbing a lotion made out of poison oak all over you, then dipping yourself in a bottle of ethanol alcohol. _Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!_

Mina's left shoulder was tense, rigid. It was at least severely bruised, if it hadn't popped out. "Why… aren't you… healing yourself?"

"Can't." Kizuna was gasping for air. White strands dropped around her feet, melted off. "Quirk… only works… on other people."

"I… hit the jackpot… huh?" She weakly tried drawing out acid again, but it was a tiny spout of silver.

With a fanged grin, Kizuna flicked her hands in a _come at me_ gesture.

Mina sucked in a lungful of air and sprinted, her fist coming up for its uppercut. The world was spinning like a top. Hardly able to see straight, she bent her knees low, grabbed Mina's sleeve, and threw her onto the ground.

Mina let out a long, dizzy groan, and didn't get up.

Covered in burning red welts, Kizuna found the stands where the Hero students, Shinsou, and Yuuka were watching.

_Thank you_, she would've hollered if she had any remaining lung capacity. _Thank you for letting me stand on your shoulders._

Then Kizuna collapsed next to Ashido Mina and heard the roar of the stadium, Present Mic shouting about the upset victory for General Studies, and 1-C waving their jackets in the air and screaming themselves hoarse.

* * *

Her hair was a lost cause.

Kizuna glumly examined herself on her phone's camera. It stuck up in sickly white patches, longer in ridiculous places and very, very short in others. She wailed at Recovery Girl to make her cute again, and was given the exasperated retort that her healing Quirk didn't work on hair.

This _sucked_. This sucked _ass_.

And she didn't even have the luck to gain a long, diagonal scar across her face.

In her other hand was an electric clipper. Kizuna looked at it, swallowing. She remembered clearly when she started thinking of herself as pretty. When she saw the white curling across her brow like the first snow of the year. It almost reflected color, vaguely iridescent in certain lighting.

This was infinitely harder than getting sprayed with acid on national television.

She couldn't lift the clipper.

…New plan: she was going to fashion herself a veil out of pillowcases and hide in the infirmary until her next match.

As Kizuna sulked and pouted and bemoaned her pyrrhic victory, something strange happened in the air. A stifling heat, thick and almost humid. She was about to ask if someone turned the heater on, before she saw the cinders.

A fortress pushed through the door. "I thought you might be in here."

Though he needed no introduction, Recovery Girl said, "Endeavor!"

Kizuna scrambled backwards on her bed and lurched up against the wall, every muscle in her body stiffening. The man was a towering giant in his blue hero suit and his hair seethed in flames. He shouldered into the infirmary, all the beds and curtains and chairs shrinking in his massive presence. His eyes glowed like hellfire.

"So you made it into General Studies. As expected of your family." Even his voice took up space, booming and gruff. "It's a fact of reality that there must be lesser heroes for the top to exist."

Her throat felt stuffed with cotton. A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.

"But Tutari was different," came the inferno, fire licking around his words like the awful snap of burning carbon. "You too have the power to be an excellent support hero. Or you could be discarded in the trash heap without ever realizing your full potential."

Recovery Girl whapped the enormous, flaming hero with her syringe-cane. The old woman barely reached his knees. "Endeavor," she said in a pinched, angry voice, a tiny ladybug buzzing around a tiger, "this is the nurse's office. That means she is _recovering_."

He seemed to finally notice the bandages on Kizuna's arms and neck, the pillow she was hiding her hair under, and the wide pink eyes staring back at him with stubborn reticence.

"Carry on," he said gruffly, stepping out the door. "I'll take my leave. Watch this next match, Kizuna."

Five-car garage, newspaper headlines, absolute power… what's that all add up to when you died alone?

"I'll take my leave," Kizuna mimicked, once she was sure he was out of earshot.

"Goodness me," Recovery Girl sighed.

"I won't tell anyone if you say 'fuck that guy'. I think it's very shine when old ladies say it."

"They're about to start." Recovery Girl tottered over to the window, squinting down. "Midoriya and Todoroki."

Kizuna threw her pillow down and scrambled over to join her at the window. Those boys glowed on the stadium screens, incandescent as if they ate fistfuls of lightbulbs and shat out shining heroics from the other end. She watched their light from the shadow of the mountain.

And then—

Midoriya ruptured bone after bone.

Todoroki _blazed_.

* * *

"He shouldn't be a hero! He shouldn't! Recovery Girl!"

"Calm down—"

"That Quirk is killing him! It's not worth it!" She finished hooking an unconscious Midoriya up to fresh blood. Recovery Girl was examining his arms and telling Kizuna which wounds to scab over with platelets and fibrin and which parts she couldn't touch, because Recovery Girl first had to remove the bone splinters. She was _this_ close to stomping her feet, throwing a proper tantrum. "I don't understand this at all! Can't you find another successor? Yagi-san, _stop laughing at my hair_!"

"Ah, no, I wasn't—you make a fair point, Yokoya—" All Might turned away from her, coughing.

"That isn't for you to decide, Kizuna," Recovery Girl reminded. Then, "I'm just as furious as you are."

"You're doing a great job of showing it," she snapped, and pressed her wrists to her face. "…Sorry."

"This has happened before, and it will happen again, and the most we can do is try to guide these heroes to a safer path."

"I don't _like_ it." It was a rasping hiss; she was not talking about Midoriya anymore. "You keep healing, and they keep dying." Round and round like a never-ending carousel.

All Might was quiet now. He was quiet, this skeleton dressed up in a baggy black suit, his brow furrowed and dark.

"Yes," Recovery Girl said, and Kizuna took a sharp breath. "Go on. Go see if Todoroki needs patching. I have a few words to say to this troublesome mentor."

She was startled by the look on the doctor's face. Recovery Girl really was incensed.

"Well," All Might said, after a beat, "I am big enough to admit I deserve this."

* * *

She paced the hallway outside his prep room for almost five minutes before finally deciding _fuck it_ and threw open the door.

There was a boy sitting at the end of the table, and he looked up as the healer strode in. Her jacket covered her head and the sleeves were tied under her chin like a dark blue headscarf; she gave him an imperious 'do not talk to me about my very fashionable and trendsetting ways' glare, which bounced off of his perpetual 'I don't talk much anyway' Todoroki bubble.

"Unzip," Kizuna said bluntly. She kicked out the chair next to him and plopped down.

Todoroki blinked slowly at her. Then he unceremoniously peeled the rest of his torn jacket off and deposited it on the table. He hardly had any injuries, except for some light bruising on his stomach. It didn't really need healing, but… _well, whatever._

As she mended it, she said, "By the way, your dad's, like, haunting the halls."

"He doesn't have anything better to do," Todoroki replied. Then: "…Midoriya?"

Kizuna contained her surprise as best as she could, which was to say, she stared at him in astonishment. Prince Frost, _caring?_ "Severely fucked-up."

Todoroki didn't look surprised. He didn't look like much of anything as he eyed the wall. All traces of his earlier competitive spirit were gone, replaced by something pensive and numb. "I thought his Quirk reminded me of All Might's."

"…I think there's some differences…"

"But it also reminded me of your dad's. The way he used to break."

"Okay, thanks," said Kizuna, and the dry cut of her voice breeched whatever meditation Todoroki was under. Grey-green eyes migrated from the wall and found her, as if seeing her properly for the first time. But Kizuna's face was slammed shut. She couldn't even think of anything funny to say, and so simply asked, "Are we talking like normal now, or are we gonna wait another nine years after trying to kill Endeavor?"

To anyone listening in, this might've sounded like a joke about premeditated patricide. It was not.

"Don't know." Todoroki returned to looking at the new love of his life, the wall.

She should've kicked him in the ankle. She should've rubbed his eyes with sandpaper. But Todoroki Shouto wouldn't have blinked. He wouldn't have even seen her. She could've taken off her shirt and shown him the putrid scar stretching from collarbone to abdomen, and he wouldn't even look her way.

Kizuna stood, remembering the fire blazing over the arena. "Midoriya will be back on his feet soon. The whole universe might end with you, but it'll take a hell of a lot more than ice and fire to snuff out that star."

"Yeah," Todoroki said, and did not say anything else.

* * *

Locks of ghost-white fell in the sink.

In the bathroom, the electric buzz of a clipper stopped.

She stared at herself in the mirror; it was a familiar sight. _I look like an egg_.

_"Shiretok,_ dummy." Yuuka gave a fanged smile, those delicate knifelike features reflected on her little sister. "You look like _me_."

She could hear the distant treble of Present Mic announcing the next match.

Kizuna ran.

On one end of the stadium, Tokoyami Fumikage walked out. His dark feathers pierced the fiercely blue sky. A red choker wrapped around his neck and his beak was a resolute yellow hook. Powerful, determined, and serious; he was not here to lose.

At the other end, a girl with a light-grey buzzcut stepped up, her bubblegum-pink eyes looking straight ahead at her opponent, the stadium lights flaring over her shaved head. At the sight of this, a certain elderly grandmother in the Yokoyama household fainted.

.

.

.

_do i not live?  
__badly, i know, but i live._

(sophocles, trans. anne carson)

.

.

.

**notes**. i once took a 'which bnha character are you' buzzfeed quiz and got aoyama. then i changed the answers until i got ochako. but my first (and accurate) result still haunts me to this day. i, too, cannot stop twinkling…

i think i'm gonna play a little ~fast and loose~ with certain canon events, just because they're more fun to write that way. also, and i'm sure you've probably picked up this by now, but i very much enjoy the concept of 'telling a fact first and then later explaining it/how people got to certain places in further detail'. i think it makes it more fun to read through, rather than info-dumping it all on one go.

some of you have made some very in-ter-est-ing theories. which i will neither confirm nor deny. and i will only say IT'S JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG, FRIENDS. when the sports festival wraps up, i'm thinking of having a brief interlude chapter with kizuna visiting fatgum in kansai, because uhhhhh i just love the giant orange totoro, and that's my only excuse? whoops.

comments that make me go "fjdksajfdsafhjds":

**arkeisios**: kizuna just going "dweeb"x10... i stan a spiteful being  
**guest**: She reminds me of toga, all with her cat eyes and sharp teeth. If they should ever meet I would like to believe they would get along swimmingly.  
**scars of the sun**: But the question is : does Bakugou's Quirk really smell like shit ? lol  
**ladyktbaby**: I would just like you to know I binged watched this show just to read this story because I love your writing style so much.  
**meno melissa**: all I can think of is Bakugo kabedon Kizuna, Todoroki kabedon Kizuna, and Shinsou stealing pocky from her hand.

i also want to say there are several comments that have touched me deeply; thank you so so much for writing them. the world is very strange; i hope you're all staying safe.

glossary

ainu

_eshi_: shut up  
_ramat_: soul  
_yai!_: hey!  
_ku yaiyapapu_: i'm sorry  
_shiretok_: beautiful  
_sapo_: big sister  
_mataki_: little sister


End file.
